FoM  Burton  ©^ 


.\*"^y:-    ■  ^■-K.^j  • 


^^^W^ 


mS 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


^£^ 


'^^O'^ 


^^^"i. 


if-m^^fli 


Wt 


.r  L  A : 


*^^!^ 


^§p 


'^■^:»^^ 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2009  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/tomburtonordaysoOOIeca 


TOM    BURTON. 


IN     PRESS: 
By  the  mine  Author. 

AUNT  SALLY'S  BOY  JACK. 

A   NOVEL. 

To  appear  complete   in    the   August 
Nun-fber   of 

BELFORD'S    MAGAZINE. 

Price,  25   Cents. 


TOM    BURTOISr; 


OR,  THE    DAYS    OF    '61 


BY 

K.  J.  ^Y.  LE  CATO. 


PUBLISHERS: 

BELFORD,    CLARKE    &    COMPANY, 

Chicago,  New  York,  and  San  Francisco, 


COPYRIOHT,   1888, 

BELFORD,  CLARKE  &  CO. 


WtVitaixon, 
TO  TULLY  A.  JOYNES,  JK. 

My  Dear  Tully  : 

More  than  once  in  my  life  I  have  felt  like  Tell  in  Knowles^ 
celebrated  play,  when  he  asks,  "  Have  I  a  friend  in  this 
crowd  ?  '^  And  in  casting  about  for  some  sympathetic  face  I 
can  truly  say,  I  have  never  seen  yours  averted.  Please  ac- 
cept, my  dear  Tully,  this  poor  acknowledgment  of  a  friend- 
ship I  hold  more  dear  than  any  I  have  on  earth.  And  be- 
lieve me, 

Ever  yours, 

THE  AUTHOK. 


603012 


TOM    BURTON. 

A  VIRGINIA  STORY  OF  THE  STIRRING  DAYS 
OF  '61. 


PART  I. 
CHAPTER  I. 

RUNNIXG    THE    BLOCKADE. 

"No"W,  this  is  riglit  smart  misfortionable,  Sammy,  to  hev 
to  wait  here  arter  this  fashion  when  the  wind  is  dyin'  out  and 
the  moon  already  sot,  and  we  uns  lyin'  here  jest  doin'  a  nuthin', 
like  onto  a  stingary  stuck  into  the  back  Avith  a  harpoon. 
Why  in  thunder  don't  he  come  along,  I  want  ter  know." 

"  Gin  him  time  to  kiss  her  ^  good-bye,'  uncle.  It  '11  be  a 
long  while  afore  he  has  the  apportunity  to  see  her  agin,  ef 
he  ever  does,  and  it's  mighty  hard  a  partin'  under  those  cir- 
cumstances, you  must  allow." 

"  So  it  ware,  Sammy,  so  it  ware.  I'll  ecknowledge  it's  werry 
misfortionable  ;  but  at  the  same  time,  my  boy,  the  sooner  them 
partin'  scenes  is  over  the  better  it  'll  be  for  both  ev  them. 
Besides,  it's  high  water  and  arter,  and  we  uns  had  better  be 
a  niovin'  away  from  these  localities.  This  here  breeze  of 
wind  are  none  too  fresh  now  to  speak  ev,  and  them  'ar  Fed- 
rals  out  thar  in  the  bay  are  pesky  hard  fellers  to  fool,  you 
know." 

Captain  Evans  said  this  with  the  air  of  one  who  knew  what 
he  was  talking  about,  and  as  he  finished  the  last  sentence  he 
twirled  a  spray  of  tobacco  juice  from  his  mouth,  half  spite- 
fully, into  the  water,  and  changed  his  enormous  quid  leisurely 
from  one  side  to  the  other  of  his  capacious  jaws.  Accom- 
plishing this  oft-repeated  feat,  he  settled  down  into  the  stern 
sheets  of  his  little  boat  with  a  groan  of  impatience  and 
decided  to  wait. 


8  TOM  BUHTOir. 

The  boat  referred  to  was  a  canoe  called  sometimes  in 
derision  "  a  dug-out,"  many  of  them  being  built  of  a  single 
tree  and  dug-out  like  a  trough. 

In  the  bow  of  this  narrow  craft  was  standing  a  tall,  trian- 
gular sail,  which  was  flapping  idly  from  side  to  side  as  the 
canoe,  rocked  by  the  surge  of  the  waves,  careened  first  one 
way  and  then  the  other.  The  surf  was  not  high,  but  could 
be  heard  up  and  down  the  beach  in  a  monotonous  swash 
which  seemed  to  play  a  drear}^  duet  with  the  sough  of  the  tall 
pines  which  stood  all  along  the  shore,  just  in  the  rear  of  a 
line  of  sand  hills  which  marked  a  treeless  waste  for  miles  and 
miles. 

The  boy  Sammy  was  a  youth  of  seventeen  or  eighteen, 
and  stood  just  abaft  the  clew  of  the  sail,  holding  out  an  oar 
on  the  shore-side  to  keep  the  craft  afloat. 

The  night  was  waning,  and  the  wind  dying  out.  The  dewy 
zephyrs  seemed  to  be  sighing  themselves  to  sleep  in  the  tops 
of  the  pines. 

A  few  rods  from  where  the  boat  lay  in  the  shadow  of  the 
thicket,  a  j'oung  Confederate  captain  was  taking  leave  of  his 
promised  bride. 

It  is  proper  to  relate  the  circumstances.  It  was  late  in 
the  month  of  Xovember,  1861.  The  eastern  shore  of  Virginia 
had  that  very  day  been  reclaimed  by  the  Federal  Govern- 
ment. The  one  lone  regiment  which  had  vainly  attempted 
for  many  months  to  defend  the  Peninsula  had  disbanded  at 
discretion,  and  Captain  AValsingham,  like  many  others  of  the 
disorganized  battalion,  was  attempting  to  escape  to  the  other 
side  of  the  Chesapeake. 

The  motive  which  prompted  this  isolated  people  to  take  up 
arms  in  the  beginning,  was  either  pure  patriotism  as  they 
held  patriotism  to  be — allegiance  to  the  State — or  else  pure 
foolishness. 

Separated  entirely  from  the  parent  State,  and  beyond  all 
hope  of  help  from  the  new  Government  at  Richmond,  there 
was  little  prospect  for  anything  else  but  disaster.  After 
vainly  trying  to  defend  their  long  line  of  sea  and  bay  coast, 
and  the  Maryland  border,  some  of  those  brave  men  were 
unwilling  to  surrender,  and,  under  cover  of  this  ]S"ovember 
night,  were  endeavoring  to  cross  over  into  Dixie  as  best  they 
might. 

Claude  "Walsingham,  the  gentleman  before  designated  as 
Captain,  was  one  of  these. 

He  had  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  Confederacy, 
sworn  to  give  his  service  for  life  or  death  to  it  for  three  years 
or  the  war;  and  under  no  condition  would  he  be  prevailed  upou 


TOM  BlTRTOir.  9 

to  surrender  to  the  enemy  while  the  ghost  of  a  chauce 
remained  for  him  to  escape  to  the  other  side. 

The  young  hidy  to  whom  he  had  but  lately  engaged  him- 
self, and  for  whom,  like  every  other  young  lover,  he  had  pro- 
fessed  the  fondest  devotion,  had  accompanied  him  to  the  hay 
shore  to  see  him  off  and  bid  him  God-speed,  while  her  father 
waited  at  a  respectful  distance  for  the  end  of  this  trying 
scene. 

There,  in  the  darkness  of  the  pine  woods  and  the  bitterness 
of  the  parting  hour,  they  plighted  again  those  vows  of  eter- 
nal fidelity  which  lovers  know  so  well  how  to  make,  and  which, 
alas  !  are  some  times  broken  or  disregarded  with  the  same 
facility,  if  not  with  the  same  emotions,  in  which  they  are 
given. 

He,  of  course,  was  gentle  and  tender,  sustaining  in  his  lan- 
guage, and  profuse  in  pictures  of  future  glory  and  future 
happiness ;  while  she  bedews  his  manly  check  with  love's 
first  gush  of  uncontrollable  grief. 

That  the  scene  was  sad  goes  without  saying. 

How  dirge-like  to  both  their  hearts  was  the  low  cadence  of 
the  sighing  trees  !  How  desolate  the  ceaseless  echo  of  the 
waves  along  the  shore  !  Nature  seemed  to  sympathize  witli 
her  poor  sneering  children,  who,  short-sighted  and  inexpe- 
rienced, saw  not  the  future  that  was  spread  out  before  them, 
but  which  had  nothing  in  realitj'  in  it  which,  in  a  prophetic 
sense,  appeared  very  promising. 

If  it  did,  why  did  Kate  Moore,  the  affianced  bride,  feel  so 
stricken  and  hopeless  as  she  stood  there,  tall  and  graceful  as 
she  was,  leaning  0:1  the  shoulder  of  the  taller,  stronger  sol- 
dier ?  Why  did  she  linger,  weeping,  if  there  came  to  her 
agonized  heart  no  presentiment  of  evil  from  the  solemn  sur- 
roundings, whis|)ering  to  her  in  language  she  understood 
scarcely,  but  sufficiently  to  know  that  there  were  trials  for  her 
in  the  days  that  were  to  come  even  greater  than  the  one  she  was 
then  passing  through  ? 

With  the  gentleness  of  a  young  husband,  the  handsome 
officer  led  the  young  lady  to  her  father,  kissed  her  hand, 
grasped  that  of  the  old  man  fervently,  and  then,  with  firm-set 
mouth,  and  hasty  step,  strode  down  the  beach  toward  the 
waiting  canoe. 

"  He  are  a  com  in'  at  last !  "  exclaimed  the  boy  as  he  caught 
sight  of  the  tardy  passenger  through  the  straggling  trees. 

Captain  Evans  rose  up,  yawned,  and  replied . 

"  That  am  a  fact  truth,  Samm}^  Put  in  your  oar  now, 
honey,  and  git  to  rights  to  sprit  your  sail  out  a  little  better ; 


10  TOM  nrirrox. 

and  look  out  tbiir  and  don't  skin  your  shins  over  that  bar'l 
of  wliisky  and  them  boxes  in  the  bottom  ev  the  cunner. 
Quynine  and  whisky  are  werry  waluable  merchandise  over 
thar  in  Dixie."  Then  in  the  same  strain  of  voice  he  con- 
tinued :  "'  Step  right  down  into  the  cunner,  Captain  Walsh- 
ingham.  You  kin  jest  occurpy  that  middle  thwart  thar  and 
make  yourself  as  comfortable  as  you  kin.  I  hate  to  see  you 
looking  so  solemchoUy  over  your  partin'  ;  its  werry  misfor- 
tionable,  I  know ;  but  its  war  times  and  can't  be  prevented,  so 
we  must  make  the  best  ev  it  we  kin."  In  this  way  the  old 
sailor  ran  on  while  Captain  AValsingham  was  adjusting  him- 
self to  his  new  quarters.  But  the  young  soldier  was  melan- 
choly nevertheless.  He  bowed  his  head  and  covered  his  face 
with  his  ban  Is. 

It  was  in  fact  to  his  proud  and  haughty  spirit  the  first 
(  heck,  to  his  patrioti(r  hopes  the  first  damper,  to  his  estimate 
of  the  future  the  first  evil  omen  of  the  lost  cause. 

These  sensations,  however,  were  but  momentary  after  all. 
Why  should  one  single  failure  be  of  such  consequence  ?  What 
was  the  loss  of  two  insignificant  counties  to  the  victories  of 
Big  Bethel  and  Bull  Bun  ? 

"In  the  limitless  fields  and  forests  of  the  Sunny  South  there 
is  still  room  enough  for  liberty.  There  are  thousands  of  im- 
pregnable haunts  for  freedom  even  when  all  Virginia  shall 
have  succombed  to  the  ruthless  invader.  He  is  this  very 
night,  I  know,  desecrating  the  land  of  my  birth  ;  but  I  shall 
come  again  to  this  very  shore  covered  with  glory,  exulting  in 
the  satisfaction  of  having  won  for  posterity  the  freedom  of  a 
Confederacy  that  shall  rival  the  splendor  of  Borne  in  her 
palmiest  days." 

"Thar,  thar;  do  shove  the  cunner  around,  Sammy.  Gin- 
eral  Jackson  and  Pocahontas  I  don't  be  so  lubberly.  Look  at 
the  fool  stickin'  his  paddle  right  ahead  ev  the  boat,  as  though 
he  never  seed  a  cunner  afore.  Thar,  that's  a  little  better. 
^ow,  put  in  your  soap-stick  and  set  her  over  to  the  sail  so 
it'll  draw.  So  '  We'll  drive  them  British  from  o-ur  shores  in 
spite  of  old  King  George  !'  Now  let  her  go  fer  Dixie,"  and 
Captain  Evans,  who  was  a  moment  ago  fretting  and  fuming 
at  the  youth  as  if  he  could  bite  off  his  head,  sat  himself  down 
to  his  work  of  guiding  the  boat  with  as  jollv  a  heart  as  ever 
beat  in  the  bosom  of    any  old  tar  that  saile  I  Ihe  l»lue  ocean. 

Captain  Walsingham  raised  his  head  and  looked  out  upon 
the  dark  water.  The  shore  had  receded  from  siglr,  and  the 
great  bay  lay  around  on  every  side ;  its  deeper  undula'T-ions 
causing  the  little  bark  to  rise  and  fall  like  a  chip  on  the 
waves. 


TOM  nURTON,  Ij 

^' Where  do  you  expect  to  land  ?  "  he  ventured  to  inquire 
of  the  old  man. 

"  I  are  aimin'  to  fetch  Lynn  Haven  bay,  sir,  prowided  the 
flood  tide  is  not  too  strong,  and  doosn't  cut  us  too  fur  uj)  the 
roads,  toward  the  fort ;  and  prowided  furthermore,  as  the 
lawyers  say,  them  ^ar  gun-boats  hain't  a  lyin'  off  thar  by  the 
Rip  Raps  a  waitin'  fur  we  uns,  we  uns  must  try  to  arwoid 
them  if  possible.  It  would  be  werry  misfortionable  to  git 
picked  up  by  one  ev  them  fellers."  Then  turning  to  the 
boy,  he  continued : 

"  Sammy,  drot  your  soul,  don't  set  thar  and  go  fast  ter 
sleep  and  tumble  overboard !  Ef  j^ou  don't  keep  a  sharp 
lookout  we  uns  will  run  hell-to-split  right  straight  into  one 
ev  them  blockaders  presently.  Thar's  alius  some  of  them 
lyin  off  thar  by  the  pint  ev  the  Horseshoe,  a  keepin'  watch 
fer  sich  as  we  uns  with  a  plenty  ev  good  whisky  and  quynine 
aboard.     '  We'll    drive  them    British  from   our    soil — " 

"Do  you  think  there  is  any  immediate  danger  of  being 
captured,  captain,  "  interrupted  Captain  Walsingham. 

"  I  don't  exactly  know  what  you  mean  by  remediate  danger, 
sir,  but  thar  is  alius  danger  in  this  business,  and  in  these 
waters,  at  sich  times.  Why,  my  dear  sir,  we  uns  is  jest  as  likely 
to  wake  up  in  Fortress  Monroe  to-morrow  mornin'  as  in  Norfolk, 
and  a  great  sight  likelier  ef  that  boy  goes  to  sleep  thar  on 
that  thwart.  But  upon  my  honor,  sir,  this  is  all  talk  and 
no  cider,  and  as  long  as  its  gittin'  kinder  chilly  out  here  in 
this  night  a'r,  with  consent,  Captain  Walshingham,  we'll  take 
a  smile.  Hetch  me  here  that  bottle,  Sammy,  thar  in  the 
basket.  That  un  what  has  the  corn-cob  stopper  in  it.  Yes, 
that's  the  one.  Pass  it  to  the  gentleman  first,  and  don't 
forgit  your  manners." 

The  boy  did  as  he  was  bidden.  Captain  Walsingham  did 
not  refuse  but  drank  heartily. 

"Don't  be  afeard  ev  it.  Thar  is  plenty  more  in  the 
bar'l.'^  The  cavalry  officer  took  a  second  draught  and  then 
passed.  "Here's  hopsin  we  may  hev  good  luck  to  git  over 
safe  and  sound." 

"But  do  you  not  give  the  boy  some  also,"  inquired 
Walsingham  when  he  saw  the  old  fellow  placing  the  bottle 
under  the  stern  sheets. 

"Who  ?  Sammy  !  why,  bless  your  sweet  soul,  it  was  a 
mortal  sin  to  larn  that  child  to  drink  liquor.  His  angel 
mother,  my  sister,  would  think  her  boy  eternally  disgraced 
ef  she  war  reware  he  ever  teched  a  drap  of  the  critter.  No, 
Captain  Walshingham  ;  I  drinks  a  mite  now  and  then — nothin' 


12  TOM  BVMTOK. 

to  say  more  nor  a  quart  or  sich  a  matter  a  day — ^but  its  as  far 
from  my  retention  as  the  east  is  from  the  west  to  set  a  bad 
example  fur  that  boy.  He's  my  lovin'  sister's  only  son,  as 
I  before  intermated,  and  she's  almighty  'ligious  and  particular. 
It  '11  do  fur  him  to  drink  when  he  gits  grown  like  we  uns. 

"  But !  shaw,  the  wind  are  entirely  died  out  and  the  flood  tide 
are  cuttin  us  up  the  bay  two  knots  an  hour.  Ef  you  will  take 
the  helm,  Captain  Walshingham,  and  keep  a  good  lookout 
ahead,  Sammy  an  me'll  snatch  the  life  outen  her." 

Captain  Eevel  Evans  was  a  character.  Tall,  large,  and 
muscular,  with  a  face  like  a  Roman,  and  a  hand  and  foot  like 
a  Titan  ;  in  disposition  as  docile  as  a  child  when  not  aroused, 
in  courage  and  endurance  a  Hercules.  No  man  could  be 
better  suited  to  the  arduous  duties  of  the  occupation  he  had 
chosen.  He  and  Samni}^,  his  nephew,  had  been  plying  their 
vocation  for  several  months,  buying  supplies  in  Baltimore 
and  shipping  them  down  to  the  eastern  shore,  taking  them 
across  the  bay  to  Eichmond  and  Norfolk  in  this  way.  There 
was  money  in  M'hisky  and  medicine  ;  especially  in  quinine, 
which  was  in  great  demand  in  the  Southern  army.  Besides 
the  captain  was  a  regularly  commissioned  spy  for  the  new 
government,  and  carried  the  mails  to  and  from  the  eastern 
shore. 

They  were  now  midway  between  the  capes,  and  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night  had  increased. 

Neither  from  Cape  Charles  nor  Cape  Henry  came  a  gleam  of 
light.  The  rebels  had  long  since  demolished  these  friendly 
beacons,  and  only  a  light-ship  anchored  off  the  entran  ce  to 
the  bay,  and  a  light-house  farther  up  the  roads,  called  the 
Thimbles,  remained  to  guide  the  benighted  mariner. 

Now  and  then  the  glimmer  of  a  gun-boat's  signal  shot 
across  the  water,  or  the  fiery  course  of  a  rocket  might  be  seen 
cleaving  the  blackness  of  night  with  a  meteor-like  sudden- 
ness only  to  disappear  as  suddenly,  leaving  the  darkness  more 
intense  than  before. 

The  surface  of  the  bay  lay  like  undulating  glass.  Captain 
Evans  and  the  boy  tugged  at  the  oars. 

"Pull  away  thar,  Sammy;  only  don't  make  sich  a  racket 
with  your  oar,  and  don't  forgit  to  keep  the  muffled  part  into 
the  rowlock.  Those  waters  are  as  thick  with  gun-boats  as  a 
clover  patch  are  with  bumble-bees  in  the  month  ev  June, 
and  thej'-  kin  hear  equerlized  to  a  black  duck." 

"  Hold  easy !  "  hissed  Captain  Walsingham  in  a  manner 
as  excited  as  if  he  had  seen  a  ghost. 

*'  Hello,  what's  up  now  ?"  demanded  Captain  Evans. 


TOM  BUUTON.  13 

"Just  look  there  to  the  right,"  rejoined  the  other. 

"A  starboard  you  mean."  Captain  Evans  changed  his 
tobacco,  turned  his  head  and  looked  in  the  direction  indicated. 
Then  spitting  spitefully  between  his  yet  sound  front  teeth, 
said : 

"  A  crusier  ;  and  its  rather  misfortionable  that  she's  comin' 
this  way." 

"  It's  all  up  with  us,  I  guess,"  dolefully  suggested  Wal- 
singham. 

"  That  mought  be  or  mought  not  be.  Thar  are  other  ways 
to  kill  his  Satanic  magester  than  chokin'  him  to  death  with  a 
ropeyarn,  I'se  hearn  say.  Lay  in  your  soup-stick,  Sammy,  easy, 
and  you  and  the  Captain  jest  dive  down  into  the  bottom  ev 
the  cunner  on  your  bellies  while  I  see  if  I  kin  contrive  to 
fool  that  fellow,  and  work  we  uns  outten  this  scrape.  Don't 
roach  your  rump  up  like  a  darned  whale,  Sammy  !  Can't 
you  straighten  yourself  out  like  a  lizard  on  a  log  in  the 
sunshine  ?    Down,  I  say,  both  ev  you  uns  ! " 

The  fact  was,  there  was  at  least  four  inches  of  water  in  the 
bottom  of  the  canoe  which  did  not  feel  very  pleasant  to  the 
boy  as  he  splashed  down  into  it. 

''  Lay  low,  boys  !  its  all-fired  misfortionable  fur  us  to  lose  all 
this  good  whisky  and  fever-and-ager  medicine.  Them  yellow- 
finned  Johnnies  over  thar  on  the  western  sho,  stand  werry 
much  in  need  ev  both.  Ef  that  gun-boat  gits  too  nigh  I 
shall  remit  to  the  mighty  deep,  and  then  all  them  fishes  will 
go  onto  an  almighty  spree,  sure." 

As  the  old  man  ran  on  in  this  fashion  he  was  lying  down 
low  along  the  gunwale  of  the  canoe  watching  the  maneuvers 
of  the  dangerous  craft,  and  directing  the  course  of  his  own. 
with  a  short  paddle  which  he  kept  for  that  purpose. 

The  former  w^as  evidently  approaching  the  blockade 
runners. 

Four  minutes  passed  with  the  tardiness  of  an  hour,  and 
there  was  yet  no  perceptible  difference  in  the  relative  posi- 
tions of  the  two  boats.  Captain  Evans'  efforts  very  nearly 
compensating  for    the    forward  movement   of   the    steamer. 

"  She  seems  to  be  takin'  her  time,  honeys,  but  she  are 
reproachin'  all  the  same.  May  be  I  mought  move  the  cunner  a 
little  faster  and  tharby  git  outten  the  way  of  that  Yankee." 
Thus  saying  he  gave  the  little  boat  two  or  three  strong  strokes 
which  sent  her  gliding  through  the  water  like  a  frightened  fish. 
But  the  effort  did  not  seem  to  accomplish  any  good.  The  gun- 
boat was  still  slowly  bearing  down  upon  them.  She  forged 
ahead  suddenly,  and  appeared  to  be  going  to  pass  on  the  port 


14  TOM  BUBTOK. 

side   of  the   canoe,  for  she  was  nearly  abreast  of  the  latter. 

"The  only  danger  now  is,"  whispered  Captain  Evans, 
"  that  that  officer  standing  thar  with  his  night-glass  in  his 
hand  may  see  we  uns  and  bring  us  to.  So  lie  low,  my 
honeys,  lie  low." 

It  was  impossible  for  Sammy  and  AValsingham  to  get 
down  any  lower  into  the  bottom  of  the  canoe  unless  the^^  went 
through  on  the  other  side.  It  was  only  for  lack  of  ability 
that  they  did  not ;    so  badl}^  were  both  of  them  frightened. 

But  all  their  precautions  were  of  no  avail.  The  man  in 
the  pilot-house  struck  his  bell,  and  almost  simultaneously  was 
sent  over  the  water  the  well-known  call : 

"  Boat  ahoy  ! " 

"  Stand  up,  men  ;  stand  up  boldly  ! "  commanded  the 
intrepid  master  of  the  canoe. 

Without  hesitating  to  consider  the  danger  of  the  act,  or 
indeed  knowing  what  they  did,  the  boy  and  his  companion 
leaped  to  their  feet. 

"  Don't  be  afeared,  stand  up  high.  Them  Yankees  can't 
see  your  complexion. 

"  Boat  ahoy  there  ! "  was  repeated  from  the  gun-boat. 

"  Yes  sah.     Hello,  who  is  you,  Norf  men  or  Souf  men  ?  " 

"  Who  are  you  in  that  canoe,  there  ?  " 

"  We  is  cullud  folks,  sir,  a  lookin"  fur  de  freedom.  Please, 
sah,  ef  ye  be  from  de  Norf,  help  us  poor  niggahs.  We  is  lost 
in  de  bay." 

"  What  are  you  doing  out  here  so  far  from  the  shore  in  the 
night  in  that  thing  ?  " 

"Didn't  we  done  told  you  ?  Ef  you  be  frens  of  de  cullud 
people,  please  take  we  uns  on  board.     I  say  we  is  lost. 

"  Go  to ,"  replied  the  man  on  the  gun-boat.    "  You  had 

better  go  back  to  your  masters.  We  are  not  here  to  look 
out  for  niggers,  If  I  catch  you  rowing  about  here  after 
this  I'll  run  you  down  as  sure  as  the  devil's  a  Dutchman.  Do 
you  hear  ?  "  and  with  that  the  Yankee  sailed  awa3^ 

"  jSTow,  sit  down  thar,  Sammy,  like  a  man,  and  giv  it  to 
her,  and  don't  be  shakin'  like  a  aspen  leaf.  Come,  Captain 
Walsingham,  let  you  and  me  take  a  pull  at  the  mainbrace." 

"  The  cleverest  thing  I  ever  saw  done  in  my  life,"  said  the 
latter,  after  taking  a  long  breath  and  a  longer  "  pull "  at  the 
bottle.     "  How  could  you  take  such  a  risk  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  them  'ar  naval  fellers  ain't  much  on  the 
nigger  question,  nohow,  so  I  took  the  chance.  Ef  you  went 
round  with  me  and  Sammy  j^ou'd  soon  learn  the  ropes.  You 
must  keep  your  wits  about  you,  Captain,  even  if  you  is  goin' 


TOM  BURTON,  1^ 

to  fight  a  goose,  which  am  an  old  saym',  you  know.  Lay 
back  on  her,  Sammy,  and  I  will  resist  you  to  rights." 

Thus,  by  dint  of  drifting,  sailing,  and  rowing  our  three 
voyagers  entered  Lynn  Haven,  a  small  arm  of  the  Chesapeake, 
putting  up  into  Princess  Ann  County,  about  ten  miles  inside 
of  Caj^e  Henry,  just  as  the  sun  was  rising  through  the  pine 
woods  along  the  shore.  Here  they  were  met  by  the  Con- 
federate coast-guard,  which  was  stationed  in  this  vicinity, 
and,  being  conducted  to  their  camp,  were  welcome  recipients 
of  their  generous  hospitality,  which  consisted  of  a  breakfast 
of  roasted  oysters,  fried  fish  and  sweet  potatoes. 

"Xow,  honeys,"  said  the  old  blockader  to  the  soldiers,  as 
he  wiped  the  grease  from  his  expansive  jaws  and  hid  a  good 
sized  potato  at  one  mouthful,  "  as  you  uns  are  not  supposed 
to  be  as  hungry  as  we  uns  is,  hadn't  you  better  jest  step 
down  to  the  cunner  and  fetch  up  them  things  what's  in  'er, 
and  haul  up  the  old  critter  under  tlie  cedars.  I'm  werry 
keerful,  you  see,  for  them  cruisiers  out  thar  to  be  looking  at 
her  through  their  spy-glasses  all  day.  She  am  a  purty  craft, 
and  they  mought  fall  in  love  with  her  ;  leastwise,  they  mought 
suspect  somethin'  wrong  wiire  goin'  on,  and  come  over  here 
and  give  we  uns  a  brush.  When  jou  uns  hev  done  all  that, 
ef  you  will  come  back  I'll  give  ye  as  nice  a  jug  ev  old  Ja- 
maica as  ye  ever  seed.  Yes,  as  good  li(|Uor  as  ever  ware 
tasted  by  the  lij^s  ev  mortal  man." 

All  of  which  orders  and  promise  were  thrown  away  on  the 
soldiers,  for  tliey,  having  a  j^erfect  knowledge  of  the  old  man's 
ways,  had  executed  his  commands  half  an  hour  before  they 
were  uttered,  and  an  ambulance  loaded  to  its  utmost  ca- 
pacity, drawn  by  two  mules  and  driven  by  a  negro,  was 
already  waiting  bj' the  roadside  behind  the  woods,  so  that  the 
old  man  had  but  to  conclude  his  rej>ast  by  finishing  the  viands 
and  bestowing  his  comj^liments  upon  his  kind  friends,  call  his 
two  companions  to  follow,  and  set  out  at  once  on  his  journey 
toward  Norfolk. 

Captain  Walsingham  was  unusually  bright  and  cheery 
after  a  night  of  little  or  no  sleep  and  exciting  adventure. 
The  sight  of  Confederate  soldiers,  the  first  he  had  seen  out- 
side of  his  own  little  camp,  in  their  fine  gray  uniforms,  and 
the  truly  stimulating  effects  of  a  cup  of  warm  coffee,  gave  a 
zest  to  this  part  of  the  journey  that  was  so  exhilarating  that 
he  soon  forgot  the  dangers  of  the  past  night,  and,  with  only 
the  burden  of  the  recollection  of  the  dear  one  left  behind, 
heard  the  crack  of  the  driver's  whip  with  gratification  as  the 
straining  mules  jogged  off,  and  the  old  man  and  Sammy 
stretched  themselves  out  on  the  barrels  for  a  nap. 


16  TOM  BURTON, 


CHAPTER    II. 

A    RETROSPECTION. 


Ix  order  to  become  better  acquainted  with  some  of  the 
minor  causes  which  led  to  our  civil  war,  as  well  as  more  fully 
to  understand  the  local  differences  which  distracted  that  por- 
tion of  the  country  of  which  this  narrative  treats,  it  is  proper 
for  us  to  go  back  a  few  years  before  the  epoch  referred  to  in 
the  preceding  chapter,  and  review  the  events  which  bear  so 
close  a  relation  to  the  work  which  we  have  undertaken. 

Situated  on  the  brow  of  a  slightly  elevated  piece  of  ground 
rising  from  the  roadside  of  an  old  country  road,  in  the  county 
of  Accomack,  there  stood  in  the  first  j^ears  of  the  sixth  decade 
of  the  present  century  an  old  frame  building. 

It  was  long,  low,  and  narrow^,  standing  with  its  end  to  the 
road,  and  having  narrow  windows  with  old-fashioned  seven  by 
nine  panes  protected  by  wooden  shutters,  looked  not  unlike  a 
country  schoolhouse. 

It  required  only  a  glance  to  satisfy  the  most  casual  and 
indifferent  observer  that  nature  had  done  far  more  to  beautify 
the  surroundings  than  art  had,  in  decorating  the  building 
itself. 

On  every  side  of  this  prosy  structure,  even  brushing  its 
paintless  a.nd  mossy  roof  with  their  umbrageous  boughs,  grew 
majestic  sycamores,  w^ith  here  and  there  a  sturdy  oak,  noble 
relics  of  primeval  days,  the  tender  buds  of  which  were,  at  the 
time  of  which  we  write,  just  bursting  into  leaflets  ;  while  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  road,  over  in  front,  extended  a  dens6 
forest  for  many  miles.  Immediately  in  the  rear  of  the  hum- 
ble edifice,  and  flanking  it  on  either  side,  was  a  graveyard,  des- 
ignated by  some  fresh  mounds  or  old  sunken  pits,  with  scarcely 
as  much  as  a  shingle  to  mark  the  resting-place  of  some  poor 
free  negro  or  poorer  white  person. 

The  reader  must  remember  that  in  those  days  rich  people 
had  their  own  private  burying-grounds  on  their  own  prem- 
ises— out  in  the  cornfield  and  sometimes  in  the  front  yard 
of  their  homes,  and  only  paupers  were  interred  in  the  church- 
yards. 

Behind  this  ridgy  and  uneven  ground  there  meandered  a 
crooked  rail  fence  and  beyond  this  spread  out  an  oat-field,  all 


TOM  BURTON.  17 

over  whlcK  the  green  blades  of  the  sprouting  cereal  were  creep- 
ing toward  the  sun. 

Following  a  custom  learned  in  earlier  days,  when  to  be  a 
dissenter  even  in  the  conservative  colony  of  the  Old  Dominion 
was  a  felony,  the  Methodist  people  of  this  vicinity  had  built 
their  meeting-house  in  a  lonely  place. 

It  went  by  the  name  of  Burton's  Meeting-house,  in  honor 
of  the  donor,  one  of  the  earlier  converts  to  the  new  faith  when 
Wesley  and  Whitfield  were  sowing  the  seeds  of  Method- 
ism in  America,  and  whose  family  descendants  are  far  from 
being  extinct  in  that  part  of  Virginia  to-day,  still  maintain- 
ing their  family  characteristics  and  clinging  to  the  religion  of 
their  fathers.  It  must  be  remarked  that  religion  was  a 
gloomy  thing  in  those  old  days.  It  can  scarcely  be  denied 
that  the  Christianity  of  to-day  is  of  a  higher  type  than  that 
of  a  hundred  years  ago,  that  there  is  progress  in  ecclesiasti- 
cism  as  well  as  in  science,  and  that  nothing  so  marks  this 
growth  as  the  difference  which  we  see  when  we  compare  the 
mode  of  worship  and  the  style  of  church  architecture  of  to-day 
with  what  it  was  in  the  past ;  and  to  do  this  we  have  not  to 
go  back  many  years. 

The  sombre  surroundings  and  solemn  aspect  of  an  old 
church  in  the  Southern  countr^^,  its  neglected  graves,  its 
crumbling  walls  and  falling  roof-tree,  carry  us  back  to  the 
times  w^hen  religion  was  clothed  in  the  winding-sheet  of  the 
dead,  and  when  to  enter  the  door  of  the  church  was  to  step 
down  into  the  portals  of  the  tomb  itself.  Thank  God,  men 
now  take  a  more  cheerful  view  of  religion  !  Thank  God,  the 
Christian  church  is  fast  losing  the  musty  odor  of  the  grave- 
clothes  it  ought  to  have  left  forever  in  the  empty  tomb  of  its 
risen  founder !  But  to  proceed.  It  was  Sunday.  One  of 
those  typical  days  of  its  kind,  so  lifelike  and  natural  that 
one  would  invariably  keep  it  for  Sunday  even  though  one 
had  lost  the  day  of  the  week ;  a  day  that  not  only  looked 
like  Sunda}^,  but  felt  like  Sunday. 

Such  days  as  these  come  in  spring-time,  after  the  lapse  of 
Easter,  with  its  raw  w^nds,  and  before  the  intense  heat  of 
Whitsuntide,  in  which  the  blue  birds  begin  to  sing  and  mate, 
the  robins  to  think  of  keeping  house  ;  when  the  mist  begins 
to  shimmer  along  the  distant  coast  line  and  the  willwillet  to 
frequent  the  wheat-fields. 

It  was  at  this  season  of  the  year  in  the  olden  times  that 
the  newly-appointed  minister,  fresh  from  his  conference,  came 
to  meet  his  people  on  the  new  circuit ;  and  they  turned  out  in 
their  best  "  bib-and-tucker  "  to  meet  him.     How  the  memory 


18  TOM  BURTON. 

of  such  days  brings  back  the  idea  of  turnip-tops,  hog's-joje, 
boiled  chicken  and  bag  pudding  ! 

But  to  get  right  down  to  bottom  facts,  this  Sunday  we 
have  been  describing  was  the  day  appointed  for  the  new 
preacher  to  make  liis  appearance  at  Burton's  Meeting-house  ; 
and,  to  judge  from  the  crowds  that  were  gathering,  the  whole 
country  had  turned  out  en  masse  to  hear  him.  Along  the 
road  for  miles  up  and  down  rolled  carriage  after  carriage, 
varying  in  style  from  a  coach  and  span  to  an  ox  cart  ;  while 
sunbrowned  farmer  lads  on  well  groomed  plough  nags  rode 
proudly  by,  politelj'  bowing  to  the  blushing  lasses  whose  gay- 
colored  ribbons  fluttered  out  from  under  the  rolled  up  cur- 
tains of  their  father's  vehicles,  as  they  sat  demurely  by  the 
side  of  their  mother  with  a  sprig  of  lilac  or  china-aster  in 
their  hands. 

How  the  dandies  increased  the  speed  of  their  horses  as 
they  approach  the  church ;  coming  up  in  grand  style  with  a 
negro  hostler  swinging  on  behind  the  buggy  in  his  shirt- 
sleeves and  covered  with  dust  and  perspiration  ! 

Clouds  of  dust  roll  up  along  the  road.  Horses  neigh, 
mules  bray,  children  cry,  negroes  shout  as  they  ply  their 
business  of  horse-taking;  carts,  buggies,  dearborns,  saddle 
horses,  are  crowded  together  in  the  thicket,  hung  up  to  the 
fence  all  around  the  grounds,  and  even  desecrate  the  grave- 
yard with  their  incessant  pawing. 

Across  the  fields  and  along  every  b^'-path  come  the  walkers 
— old  men  with  hickory  walking  stic;ks  ;  boys  eating  pop -corn 
and  walnuts,  with  which  they  had  filled  their  capacious  pock- 
ets before  starting;  girls  sitting  down  under  the  huckle- 
berry bushes  on  the  pine  straws  to  change  their  shoes  and 
stockings  !  Surely  there  must  be  something  more  than  a 
new  preacher  to  call  out  so  many  people  on  this  bright  May 
day.  It  could  scarcely  be  the  sunshine ;  though  God's  sun 
never  shone  brighter.  It  could  not  be  the  odor  of  hyacinths 
or  the  smell  of  the  pine  woods.  Had  it  been  this  or  that, 
what  need  should  there  be  of  groups  of  serious  men  standing 
here  and  there  discussing,  as  it  seemed  to  be,  one  subject,  and 
evidently  displaying  more  interest  in  some  matter  or  other 
than  country  people  usually  do  in  religion  ? 

Why  did  women  crane  their  heads  out  of  the  doors  and 
windows  of  the  meeting-house,  and  start  as  if  with  fright  at 
every  unusual  sound.  It  could  not  have  been  mere  womanly 
curiosity.  Why  did  there  stand  at  the  gallery  door,  just 
around  the  corner,  a  little  out  of  the  sight  of  the  white  people, 
half  a  dozen  old  gray-headed  negro   men,  wearing  -well  worn 


TOM  BURTON.  Id 

swallow-tail  coats  and  antiquated  plug  hats  ;  their  ungainly 
limbs  bent  with  age  or  made  crooked  with  years  of  unremit- 
ting toil — why  did  these  stand  there  as  if  they  expected  some- 
thing great  to  happen,  an  expression  of  mingled  pain  and 
curiosity  depicted  on  their  coarse,  but  benign  features  ? 

Will  you  allow  me  to  tell  you  ?  The  story  is  an  interesting 
one. 

The  feeling  that  slavery  was  not  only  wrong,  but  a  great 
sin,  had  not  been  shared  by  the  New  Englanders  alone. 
There  were  in  early  days — even  in  colonial  times — as  many 
abolitionists  who  were  really  so  at  heart,  and  upon  a  matter 
of  principle,  in  the  State  of  Virginia,  as  in  Massachusetts. 

Washington,  Jefferson,  Mr.  G.  W.  P.  Custis,  and  other  dis- 
tinguished master-spirits  of  the  age  were  emancipationists — 
some  of  them  in  theory,  many  of  them  in  fact,  practically 
demonstrating  their  faith  by  manumitting  their  slaves — not 
selling  them  because  they  were  unprofitable,  and  putting  them 
into  their  pockets,  but  actually  setting  them  free  while  they 
were  yet  valuable,  and  their  progeny  likely  to  become  more  so. 

What  a  pity  this  wise  philanthropic  and  politic  plan  could 
not  have  been  allowed  to  go  on  and  gradual  emancipation  been 
promoted  throughout  the  South,  a  liberal  system  of  education 
backing  up  the  movement  and  paving  the  way  to  the  civiliza- 
tion of  the  race.  AVell  had  it  been  for  Virginia,  if  such  wise 
counsels  had  prevailed  !  She  would  then  have  been  spared  the 
agony  as  well  as  the  humilation  of  having  the  incubus  removed 
by  other  people — whose  fathers  were  equally  guilty  with 
herself  in  the  beginning — with  force  of  yrms,  and  at  the  fearful 
cost  of  rivers  of  blood  and  immense  treasure  ;  and  then  to  have 
suddenly  engrafted  upon  her  body  politic  a  mass  of  ignorant 
voters,  who  had  either  to  be  cheated  out  of  their  newly  con- 
ferred rights  as  citizens,  or  else  permited  to  rule  the  State. 

But  no  !  Her  people  would  have  slavery  or  nothing  ;  and 
any  man  who  dared  to  say  or  think  anything  in  opposition  to 
the  institution  was  at  once  outlawed  and  ostracized,  until  it 
arrived  to  that  pitch  that  there  was  no  mercy,  here  or  here- 
after, for  that  man  who  dared  openly  to  assert  that  emanci- 
pation was  right. 

Jefferson  was  remembered  for  his  pure  democracy,  Wash- 
ington for  his  patriotism  and  devotion  to  his  country  ;  but 
never  a  word  was  ever  uttered  about  the  views  which  these 
great  men  entertained  and  expressed,  on  the  subject  of  slavery. 
So  well,  in  fact,  did  men  love  the  institution  that  Washington 
and  Jefferson  might  both  go  to  the  dogs,  so  slavery  was 
maintained.     So   strong   indeed  was   this   infatuation,    that 


20  TOM  BUIiTON. 

men  possessing  only  a  few  thousand  dollars  invested  tlieir 
all  in  negro  propert}^,  even  after  the  alarming  voice  of  war 
had  sounded  the  death-knell  of  the  nefarious  traffic. 

The  longer  it  lasted  and  the  more  precarious  the  tenure, 
the  more  the  politicians  and  law-makers  tried  to  hedge  it  in, 
and  to  run  hither  and  thither,  like  frightened  ants,  whose 
devoted  hills  had  been  invaded  by  some  insurmountable  dif- 
ficult}',  trying  to  find  some  means  to  preserve  a  social  fabric 
so  rotten  tliat,  if  let  alone,  it  would  have  fallen  of  its  own 
weight  in  less  than  fifty  j'ears. 

But  how  came  the  church  to  have  anything  to  do  with  this 
matter  ?  and  in  what  connection  was  it  associated  with  Bur- 
ton's Meeting-house  ?  Be  patient,  I  will  explain.  The 
Methodist  Episcopal  Church  in  America,  of  all  the  influences 
which  worked  the  final  destruction  of  slavery,  was,  perhaps, 
the  most  potent.  At  each  succeeding  meeting  of  its  general 
conference  it  formulated  new  expressions  of  antagonism,  and 
invented  new  methods  of  attack.  The  time  at  last  arrived 
w^hen  Northern  and  Southern  brethren  could  no  longer  dwell 
together  in  unity.  The  Southern  clergy  raised  the  issue  of 
che  divine  right  to  hold  slaves,  and  by  a  strict  and  literal 
interpretation  of  the  Bible,  M^ent  far  to  prove  their  point.  So 
well  did  they  manage  their  side  of  the  controvers}^,  that  the 
Northern  debater  let  go  his  hold  of  argument  and  fortified 
himself  behind  the  impregnable  ramparts  of  the  doctrine  of  a 
"higher  law,"  and  from  that  stronghold,  believing  in  the 
righteousness  of  his  cause,  whether  able  to  prove  it  by  script- 
ure or  not,  would  not  be  moved  from  his  trenches. 

A  division  ensued,  and  by  this  division  came  a  border. 
Ecclesiastically  speaking,  the  eastern  shore  of  Virginia  was 
a  part  of  this  border.  From  the  earliest  days  of  Methodism 
her  people  had  been  furnished  with  pastors  from  the  Phil- 
adelphia and  AYilmington  Conferences,  so  that,  when  the 
division  took  place,  tliere  were  many  members  of  the  different 
societies  who  were  averse  to  losing  their  old  ministers,  and 
the  ministers  their  old  flocks  ;  not  a  few  of  the  latter  being 
bound  to  their  Virginia  friends  by  ties,  not  onW  of  sacred 
fellowship,  but  also  of  consanguinity^ 

Party  spirit  unbecoming  Christian  communities  soon  be- 
came manifest,  and  threatened  to  end  in  violence. 

The  Northern  Methodists  held  out  firmly.  Those  who 
held  to  Southern  views  assumed  the  aggressive.  Votes  at 
first  were  taken  to  decide  how  a  church  should  go.  But  this 
did  not  satisfy  the  public  demand.  It  was  decided  that  no 
Northern  preacher  sliould  exercise  the  functions  of  his  office 


TOM  BUBTOK.  21 

in  ttat  part  of  the  State,  either  in  or  out  of  the  church,  and 
a  band  of  men,  containing  some  of  the  most  influential  and 
important  persons  in  the  community,  M-as  bound  to  resist  the 
preaching  of  the  gospel  by  men  from  Conferences  north  of 
Mason  and  Dixon's  Line.  Old  Burton  still  held  on  to  its 
allegiance.  As  if  tlie  spirit  of  the  old  bishops,  nearly  all  of 
whom  had  preached  there,  from  Coke  down  to  Janes,  still 
hovered  about  the  jilace,  and  the  voices  of  Dow  and  Hersey 
still  echoed  in  its  walls.  Burton  would  not  forget  her  first 
love.  Here,  in  this  old  church,  were  a  few  names,  even  in 
Accomack,  who  had  not  defiled  their  garments. 

To  fill  the  pulpit  of  this  church  this  day  the  new  preacher 
was  coming  from  tlie  Philadelphia  Conference,  from  whence 
he  had  been  called  by  its  membership,  and  to  tliis  place  the 
mob  had  assembled  on  that  memorable  Sabbath  to  put  him 
out ;  and  if  needs  be,  murder  him. 

The  ground  occupied  by  the  church  party  was  immediately 
in  front  of  the  meeting-house.  The  building  was  already 
filled  to  repletion  by  the  women  and  children  and  the  old 
men  of  the  congregation.  These  latter  were  there  in  the 
amen  corners  praying  for  the  safety  of  their  beloved  pastor, 
and  believing  in  their  souls  that  God  would  somehow  or 
other  deliver  him  out  of  the  hands  of  his  enemies. 

The  rioters  had  taken  a  position  just  over  the  road  in  the 
thicket,  where  they  had  improvised  a  bar  over  which  a  negro 
presided,  and  who  measured  out  "  Dutch  courage  "  for  them 
at  ten  cents  a  glass.  From  this  rendezvous  they  issued 
in  force  about  the  time  of  service,  headed  by  their  chief. 
He  was  both  young  and  handsome.  His  blonde  mustache 
was  scarcely  visible  in  its  faint  outlines,  arching  a  mouth 
almost  faultless  in  shape.  His  hair  was  a  light  brown,  and 
fell  to  his  shoulders  in  profuse  ringlets.  There  was  grace 
and  activity  in  all  his  motions,  and  he  turned  now  and  then 
on  his  heel  to  speak  to  his  companions,  or  to  cast  a  glance  up 
or  down  the  road;  there  was  occasionally  displayed  the  hilt 
of  a  bowie  knife  and  the  handles  of  a  pair  of  duelling  pistols, 
confined  to  his  waist  by  a  belt  of  leather.  He  was  the 
observed  of  all  observers.  Curious  urchins  in  nankeen 
trousers,  and  fustian  jackets  obtrusively  shoved  themselves 
through  the  crowd,  that  they  might  catch  a  sight  of  him. 

Women  cast  furtive  glances  at  him  from  the  doors  and 
windows  of  the  church  ;  some  to  shower  maledictions  upon 
his  head,  and  others,  with  tokens  of  admiration.  He  was  the 
hero  of  the  day  and  played  his  role  thus  far  gallantly.  There 
was  no  doubt  of  his  superiority,  compared  to  common  country 
folk. 


22  TOM  BURTON. 

His  clothes  were  more  in  style  and  better  in  quality.  His 
complexion  smoother,  his  hands  whiter.  Even  the  jaunty 
manner  in  which  he  wore  his  sloucli  hat,  showed  him  to  he 
high-toned  and  distingue. 

"  He  will  not  come.  I  knew  he  would  not  attempt  to 
preach  here  to  day.  The  Abolition  scoundrel  knows  better 
than  to  presume  upon  the  indulgence  of  a  justly  indignant 
people,"  he  said,  strutting  up  and  down  the  road,  as  the  hour 
for  preaching  began  to  pass  without  the  expected  dominie 
putting  in  his  appearance. 

Standing  near  enough  to  hear  every  word  he  said,  and  re- 
garding him  with  a  look  of  undisguised  contempt,  was 
another  3'outh,  scarcely  as  old,  of  rough  exterior,  plain  attire, 
but  comely  in  form.,  and  with  a  face  that  was  characteristic 
of  firm  determination  and  natural  courage.  Catching  the 
boastful  words  of  the  leader  of  the  mob,  he  waited  for  him  to 
get  through  with  his  little  speech,  and  then,  stepping  up  in 
front  of  him,  retorted  : 

"  But  he  will  come,  Mr.  Claude  Walsingham,  and  he'll 
preach,  too,  so  you  may  bet  your  bottom  dollar  on  that." 

The  eyes  of  the  other  shot  forth  flames  of  fire  as  he  clinched 
his  teeth  behind  his  thin  lips  and  placed  his  right  hand  upon 
his  hip,  too  much  surprised  and  too  indignant  at  first  to 
reply. 

A  flutter  of  agitation  ran  through  the  motley  crowd.  There 
was  slight  applause  among  the  church  party,  but  hoots  of 
derision  from  the  rioters. 

Taking  a  step  forward  toward  his  adversary,  and  curbing 
his  temper  with  an  effort,  he  spoke  : 

"  Who  are  you,  sir,  Mdio  dares  to  speak  with  such  high- 
sounding  confidence  ?  You  had  better  go  home,  or  J^ou 
might  get  hurt.  This  is  no  place  for  such  hobble-de-hoys  as 
you  appear  to  be." 

"I  am  Tom  Burton,  the  Abolitionist's  son.  M}^  grand- 
father built  that  house ;  my  mother  and  sister  are  in  it  to- 
day. If  the  preacher  comes,  and  I  am  sure  he  will,  you  may 
depend  upon  it  he  will  preach,  or  Tom  Burton  will  be  carried 
home  on  a  barn  door,  so  I  give  yon  fair  warning." 

"  It  is  old  Burton's  son,  sure  enough,"  said  half-a-dozen 
voices  at  once. 

"And  a  lad  '11  do  what  he  says  everj^time,"  echoed  another 
old  farmer,  with  a  knowing  shake  of  the  head. 

''  See  here,"  began  the  chief  of  the  regulators,  balked  by  the 
bravery  of  the  boy  as  well  as  by  the  backing  which  was  de- 
veloping in  his  behalf,  "  we  are  not  here  to  quarrel  with  you 


TOM  BURTON.  23 

cliurch  people.  Far  be  it  from  our  purpose  to  disturb  re- 
ligious worsliip.  We  are  law-abiding  citizens.  Our  business 
is  ratlier  to  protect  tlian  frighten  you.  But  we  are  deter- 
mined your  d Methodist  preachers  shall    not    tamper 

with  and  corrupt  our  negroes.  They  are  only  here  to  incite 
insurrection,  and  teach  our  slaves  to  butcher  us.'' 

"  You  lie,  sir.  The  preacliers  do  not  interfere  with  our 
social  or  political  affairs.  There  is  not  a  shadow  of  truth  in 
your  accusations.  If  they  Avere  tlie  sort  of  people  you  repre- 
sent them  to  be,  why  do  you  n')t  present  them  to  the  grand 
jury  and  punish  tlieni  according  to  law  ?  You  know  you 
have  tried  that  and  faih'd.  Xow  you  want  to  mob  them. 
Go,  speak  to  your  cowardly,  rum-sucking  followers,  and  send 
them  home  and  cease  to  profane  God's  holy  daj'  by  disturbing 
the  worship  of  his  people." 

The  Methodists  had  not  counted  on  such  a  bold  champion. 
His  burning  words  infused  new  life  into  them,  Tliey  came 
running  up  to  the  scene  from  every  quarter,  creating  a  gen- 
eral confusion,  in  the  midst  of  wliich  the  rumbling  of  fresh 
carriage  wheels  was  heard,  and  the  preacher,  accompanied  by 
one  of  the  official  members  of  the  church,  drove  up  and 
alighted.  This  timely  circumstance  turned  attention  in 
another  direction.  Claude  Walsingham  (for  it  was  he  who 
led  the  mob),  sprang  forward  and  seized  the  preacher  by  the 
arm.  He  had  not  more  than  done  so,  however,  before  he 
found  himself  crushed  in  the  vise-like  grasp  of  Tom  Burton. 
His  hold  on  the  preacher's  arm  was  relaxed.  His  would-be 
assailant  had  all  he  could  do  to  protect  himself  from  instant 
strangulation.  The  promptness  of  the  Abolitionist's  son 
alarmed  the  rioters,  at  the  same  time  it  had  made  lions  of 
the  most  cowardly  adherents  of  the  church  party. 

A  scene  of  great  excitement  ensued.  There  was  shuffling 
of  feet,  scores  of  uplifted  arms,  hissing  of  oaths,  and  the  dull, 
heavy  sound  of  sledge-hammer  blows.  The  vast  crowd  swayed 
like  the  tops  of  pine  trees  in  a  gale  of  wind. 

"Down  with  him!  Kill  him  !  Strangle  the  wretch  !"  was 
heard  on  every  hand.  In  a  minute  the  doughty  chief  was 
deserted.  His  affrighted  followers,  panic-stricken,  sought 
the  cover  of  the  woods,  while  he  himself  was  writhing  in  the 
clutches  of  the  j^oung  farmer.  With  his  hard  hand  at  his 
throat,  Tom  Burton  was  choking  the  breath  out  of  him,  and 
no  one  thus  far  had  ventured  to  come  to  his  rescue. 

Sitting  near  the  door  of  the  meeting-house,  intently  watch- 
ing the  crowd  in  general,  but  the  dashing  young  hero  in  par- 
ticular, was  a  child,  or  rather  a  young  girl,  perhaps  thirteen 


24  TOM  BURTON. 

years  old.  Her  eyes  had  followed  the  handsome  leader  in  his 
every  movement.  She  seemed  to  be  perfectly  infatuated 
with  him. 

When  the  fracas  began,  and  while  it  was  in  progress,  many 
of  the  ladies  in  the  church  fainted  away,  some  shrieked  at  the 
top  of  their  lungs,  and  others  closed  their  eyes  and  meekly 
folded  their  hands  in  praj^er. 

Not  thus  the  little  girl  referred  to.  When  she  perceived 
the  helpless  condition  of  her  hero,  her  solicitude  knew  no 
bounds.  She  sprang  for  the  church  door,  leajjed  over  the 
block  at  the  entrance,  slid  through  the  dense  crowd  and  forced 
her  way  to  the  spot  where  the  struggle  was  taking  place.  In 
a  moment  she  was  clinging  to  the  neck  of  Tom  Burton,  her 
eyes  overflowing  with  tears. 

"Oh,  please,  brother,  do  not  hurt  him;  he  will  go  away  if 
you  will  let  him.  There,  you  have  choked  him  enough.  See, 
see,  you  will  kill  him  !  " 

If  Tom  Burton  had  been  struck  by  lightning,  he  would 
not  have  been  more  surprised.  At  first  he  tried  to  shake  her 
off,  but  she  clung  to  him  all  the  closer  and  begged  all  the  more 
piteously  for  the  man's  life. 

Her  conduct  awakened  some  sympathy  in  the  crowd. 

"  Let  him  go.  Burton.  He's  got  enough,"  said  some  one. 
"  Yes,  let  him  up,"  was  the  cry  that  went  around,  and  Tom 
Burton,  frowning  at  his  sister,  spurned  the  cringing  aristocrat 
from  him  as  though  he  were  a  serpent.  Walsingham,  still 
panting  for  breath,  his  beautiful  curly  hair  tangled  and  dis- 
hevelled, his  fine  clothes  torn  and  disarranged,  and  his  throat 
red  with  the  marks  of  Tom  Burton's  fingers,  picked  up  his 
dusty  slouch,  and,  bowing  politely  to  the  girl,  retired  amid  the 
jeers  of  the  surrounding  crowd. 

The  minister  had  in  the  meantime  reached  his  pulpit 
minus  a  part  of  his  coat-tail,  and  mingling  with  sobs  of  emotion 
and  hallelujahs  of  rejoicing  over  their  great  victory,  the  very 
roof  of  Burton's  Meeting-house  leaped  to  the  voices  of  the 
congregation,  as  they  sang  that  lofty  air  of  thanksgiving, 
so  old,  and  yet  so  ever  new,  "  Praise  God  from  whom  all  bless- 
ings flow,"  and  the  trouble  was,  for  the  time  being,  all  over. 


TOM  BURTON.  25 

CHAPTER  III. 

PREMOXITIOX. 

Public  opinion  !  What  is,  and  what  is  it  worth  ? 

Men  have  a  great  deal  to  say  about  "  a  decent  regard  for 
public  opinion/'  as  though  one  should  do  nothing  at  all  with- 
out first  consulting  that  august  censor  of  human  conduct, 
when  the  fact  is,  more  truth  has  been  strangled,  and  more 
justice  sacrificed  at  the  shrine  of  public  opinion  than  ever 
fell  a  victim  to  tyranny,  or  ever  was  immolated  at  the  altar 
of  ignorance  and  superstition. 

Public  opinion  is  "  everything  by  turns,  and  nothing  long," 
To-day  it  is  very  conservative,  to-morrow  extremely  radical ; 
to-day  crucifying,  to-morrow  applauding. 

Whoever  knew  public  opinion  do  any  pioneer  work  ?  Where 
has  it  been  in  the  great  battles  of  progress,  which  have  been 
fought  in  the  world?  Not  in  the  front,  not  on  either  wing  of 
the  army.  It  has  not  even  suppoi'ted  the  advance  guard  of 
human  thought.  On  the  other  hand,  it  invariably  puts  it- 
self in  the  way,  blocks  up  the  road  ;  and  not  infrequently  turns 
awa}^  from  struggling  Kight,  and  makes  common  cause  with 
rampant  Error. 

Two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  public  opinion  said  : 
"  There  are  witches  ;  and  witches  must  be  burned  at  the  stake.*' 
And  whosoever  had  the  temerity  to  say :  '•  There  are  no 
witches,"  had  to  be  burned  also.  Sixty  years  ago  it  was 
almost  death  for  a  man  to  be  an  abolitionist  even  in  the 
North.  Now  public  opinion  is  just  as  sure  that  there  never 
was  such  a  thing  on  this  earth  as  a  witch,  as  it  is  sure  to-day, 
from  one  end  of  this  broad  land  to  the  other,  that  slavery  was 
a  fearful  curse  to  the  country,  and  especially  to  that  part 
where  it  most  prevailed. 

Ever  ready  to  stone  the  prophets,  and  kill  them  that  are 
sent  into  the  world  to  redeem  it  from  thraldom,  this  public 
opinion  slays  its  victims  with  merciless  cruelty,  and  then 
turns  and  builds  to  their  memory  the  most  gorgeous  mau- 
soleums. 

This  same  public  opinion  crushed  out  free  speech  in  Vir- 
ginia. 

The  little  band  of  Northern  Methodists  were  throttled  as  a 
fowler  does  his  game. 


26  TO^f  BTRTON, 

The  old  nieetlng-house  was  burned  down,  and  its  saered 
site  was  left  as  bare  and  desolate  as  that  of  Jerusalem  after 
the  ploughshare  of  the  E-omans  had  furrowed  its  hallowed 
ground. 

One  short  year  after  the  events  related  in  the  preceding 
chapter  and  there  was  scarcely  a  man  left  to  say,  "  I  am  a 
Xorthern  Methodist." 

Tom  Burton  went  down  in  the  crash.  Treated  worse  than 
a  free  negro,  ostracized  and  threatened,  he  gradually  lost  his 
manhood,  took  to  drink,  became  really  worthless,  and,  finally, 
left  the  country,  going  no  one  knew  where  and  no  one  but 
his  sister  Mary  cared.  His  mother  had  died  of  a  broken 
heart,  and  Mary  passing  under  the  guardianship  of  an  uncle, 
George  Mason,  was  sent  to  a  boarding-school  to  become  the 
butt  for  ridicule  and  persecution  tliere. 

Thus  triumphed  the  cause  of  slavery.  All  the  better  ele- 
ments of  society — the  cultivated,  the  refined,  and  the  Chris- 
tianized classes — enlisting  to  serve  under  its  banner,  when, 
in  1858,  the  feeling  against  its  personal  enemies  uniting 
with  the  dogma  of  State  rights,  arrayed  itself  against  the 
general  government — a  target  worthy  of  its  steel;  and  civil 
strife  had  already  been  declared  in  tlie  hearts  of  the  South- 
ern people  two  years  before  it  actually  broke  out  in  the 
capitol  at  Washington. 

Patriotism  was  turned  into  hate  ;  and  like  men  who,  when 
they  drift  from  the  safe  moorings  of  Christianity,  pass  into  a 
condition  of  infidel it}^,  so  drifted  this  people  into  a  condition 
of  moral  and  political  anarch}^,  fitting  them  for  the  worship  of 
any  apotheosis  which  in  its  nature  might  represent  rebellion, 
and  promised  to  perpetuate  the  institution  peculiar  to  the 
South. 

Nor  had  they  long  to  wait  for  the  coming  of  the  imperial 
goddess. 

In  the  politics  of  the  nation,  the  Kansas-Nebraska  alter- 
cation, the  success  of  the  proslavcry  party  in  the  local  elections 
in  the  former,  and  the  daring  gallantry  and  prestige  of  the 
Southern  representation  in  Congress,  paved  the  way  for  the 
debut  of  Secession,  and  moulded  into  shape  the  chimera  of  a 
Southern  Confederacy. 

From  the  national  capital,  the  rapidly  maturing  monster, 
like  a  malignant  tumor,  sent  out  its  tentacles  into  States 
and  communities,  fermenting  the  whole  extent  of  the  Sunnj'- 
South. 

Hostile  legislation  found  ready  supporters.  In  Virginia 
every  vessel  trading  out  of  the  capes  of  the  Chesapeake  was 


TOM  BURTON.  <27 

made  subject  to  the  right  of  search ;  justices  of  the  peace 
were  clothed  with  authority  to  enter  into  United  States  post- 
offices,  extract  certain  newspapers  therefrom,  and  make  bon- 
fires of  them  in  the  public  streets,  and  the  militia  of  the 
State  was  mobilized  and  put  upon  a  war  footing. 

Such  had  grown  the  condition  of  things  when,  in  the 
course  of  time,  the  Fourth  of  July,  in  the  year  aforesaid, 
dawned  upon  a  country  full  of  intestine  strife  and  tottering 
to  an  epoch  at  once  the  most  deplorable,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  the  most  glorious  in  the  annals  of  the  world. 

When  it  did  come  it  found  the  people  of  Virginia  less 
inclined  to  celebrate  it  than  ever  before,  if,  indeed,  they 
cared  to  celebrate  it  in  the  old-fashioned  way  at  all.  But  as 
some  of  the  young  people  desired  to  have  an  opportunity  to 
enjoy  a  little  holiday,  to  exchange  glances,  and  talk  of  other 
things  than  corn  and  oats,  and  as  one  Hall,  a  school-master, 
who  was  teaching  a  military  school  in  the  neighborhood, 
wished  to  show  off  his  boys  in  their  summer  uniforms,  it  was 
determined  to  repair  to  a  certain  bluff  on  the  bay  shore, 
known  as  Buzzard  Hill  (there  is  nothing  in  a  name),  and 
then  and  there  hold  a  Fourth  of  July  picnic. 

Ten  days  previous  to  this  affair,  Claude  Walsingham,  who 
had  lately  been  called  to  the  bar,  sat  in  his  office  at  Drum- 
mondtown,  the  county  seat,  reading  a  ponderous  law  volume 
at  his  leisure.  Drummondtown,  at  that  day  and  date,  was  a 
finished  village.  Not  finished  in  the  classic  sense  of  the 
word,  but  finished  in  its  growth.  The  limits  of  the  town 
were  as  fixed  as  the  laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  nobody 
wishing  to  build  any  more  houses,  and  nobody  wishing  any 
one^else  to  come  there  and  build  any.  The  court-house  was 
there  built  at  some  period  in  the  last  century,  the  clerk's 
office,  a  tavern,  some  three  churches,  and  about  two  score 
private  residences.  It  is  all  changed  now.  The  iconoclastic 
steam  engine  has  found  its  way  down  the  middle  of  the  old 
Eastern  shore,  and  Drummondtown  has  awakened  out  of  its 
long  sleep,  yawned,  and  gone  to  work.  But  the  place  is  not 
as  aristocratic  as  it  used  to  be,  because  the  free  school  system 
has  been  introduced,  and  the  Chincotiaguers  and  Tangier 
Islanders  and  the  White  Marshers  have  been  taught  to  read 
and  write,  and  to  know  something  else  besides  oysters  and 
ponies  and  sand  hills  ;  and  for  bright  eyes  and  quick  intellects, 
and  good  manners,  as  well  as  good  living,  one  would  not  go 
now  specially  to  the  court-house  to  find  them. 

But  this  is  neither  here  nor  there.  Claude  Walsing- 
ham was   sitting  in  his  office^  and  this  was  in  the  corner 


28  TOM  BURTON, 

of  the  old  court-yard,  reading  as  aforesaid,  that  is,  lie 
had  been,  for  he  was  asleep  now,  sitting  bolt  upright  in  a 
large  arm-chair,  with  a  table  in  front  of  him  covered  with 
green  baize  on  wliich  was  laid  ample  writing  material,  fancy 
penwipers  and  some  few  pamphlets.  Behind  him,  ranged  on 
shelves  from  floor  to  ceiling,  were  long  rows  of  books  with 
leather  backs,  some  old  and  some  new.  Growing  by  the 
window  w^as  a  luxurious  willow,  which  drooped  its  modest 
branches  over  the  low  roof  of  his  stud}'.  Some  tall  elms  stood 
in  front  of  his  door  in  the  court-yard,  in  one  of  which  a  pair 
of  orioles  were  leisurel}^  feeding  their  young.  The  day  was 
very  hot.  The  locust  trilled  his  shrill  notes,  sighing  away 
drowsily  as  the  day  advanced  toward  noon.  Altogether,  the 
scene  was  soothing  and  quiet,  suited  to  both  place  and 
people.  It  is  no  wonder  that  Claude  was  lazy  and  went  to 
sleep.  The  liveliest  Yankee  this  side  of  Canada  would  be 
as  lazy  in  less  than  six  months  in  that  latitude.  Neither  is 
it  any  wonder  that  he  let  his  heavy  book  fall  to  the  floor  ;  but, 
it  is  a  wonder  that  the  quick,  sharp  howl  of  the  red  setter 
that  was  also  dozing  at  his  feet,  whose  tail  had  sustained  the 
momentum  of  the  mighty  volume,  did  not  cause  him  to 
start. 

How  long  he  would  have  slept  is  an  unknown  fact,  had  not 
another  young  sprig  of  the  law  sauntered  across  the  court- 
house 3'ard,  and  stood  in  the  door  of  the  office  fully  a  minute 
before  exclaiming  : 

"Well,  you're  a  pretty  picture,  sitting  there  asleep  with 
your  mouth  wide  open,  and  the  flies  playing  hide-and-seek 
in  and  out  of  it.'' 

Claude  yawned,  cleared  his  throat,  and  merely  said,  "  Hello, 
old  fellow.     Come  in." 

"  With  the  Fourth  of  July  not  two  weeks  off,  I  should  think 
all  young  lawyers  who  expect  to  air  themselves  on  that  occa- 
sion, instead  of  wasting  precious  time  in  sleep,  would  be  pre- 
paring their  addresses.  Were  I  the  lucky  orator,  I  know  I 
should,"  and  saying  this  the  visitor  walked  in,  took  a  seat, 
and  began  to  fan  himself  with  his  straw  hat. 

"  Who  told  you  I  was  going  to  make  a  speech,  Ered  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  heard  j^ou  were." 

"Nonsense.  Let  me  tell  you  a  thing  or  two.  If  you  cared 
as  little  for  the  Fourth  of  July  or  its  memories  as  I  do,  you 
would  sleep  too.  I  always  despised  spread-eagle  occasions 
anyway,  you  know  ;  and  who  has  any  heart  in  things  national 
now  ?  My  dear  boy,  the  State  is  ever}'  thing.  Do  you  not 
Jcnow,  that  the  worst  thing  which  eyer  befall  this   country^ 


TOM  BURTON,  29 

was  the  separation  from  the  mother  country  ?  Before  God, 
I  had  rather  be  under  British  rule  ten  times  over,  than  such 
a  government  as  we  shall  have  in  America  in  a  few  years. 
All  this  outcry  about  independence  now,  and  independence 
forever — this  give  me  liberty,  or  give  me  death  sentiment — 
is  nothing  but  downright  bosh.  We  have  too  much  liberty 
already,  and — " 

"  You're  a  devil  of  a  fellow  to  be  selected  to  deliver  a 
Fourth  of  July  oration,  now  ar'n't  you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,  I  shall  deliver  no  oration  that 
I  know  of." 

"Perhaps  you'll  change  your  mind  in  a  little  while.  But, 
how  is  this  ?  Have  you  indeed  no  patriotism  at  all  ?  Do  not 
the  names  of  Wasliington  and  Jefferson  and  Henry,  stir  with- 
in you  the  old  feeling  ?  Does  the  starry  flag,  as  it  flutters 
in  the  breeze,  awaken  in  your  obdurate  breast  no  national 
enthusiasm,  is  it  possible  that  you  are  the  man  without 
a  country  ? 

'  Lives  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead 
Who  never  to  liimself  hath  said. 
This  is  my  own,  my  native  land  ?"' 

"Jerusalem!  old  fellow;  you  roar  like  a  Demosthenes. 
But  seriously,  our  government  is  nothing.  It  is  all  going  to 
pieces.  It  will  cease  to  exist  in  less  than  ten  years.  I 
should  not  be  surprised  to  see  a  Southern  confederacy  in  less 
than  five." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  mean  that  we  shall  have  a  divided  country,  and  that 
right  soon.  We  have  got  to  cut  loose  from  that  transcen- 
dental free-love-puritanical-ca,nting  set  of  negro-loving  scoun- 
drels at  the  Xorth,  or  else  become  their  slaves.     As  for  me — " 

"Hold  up,  Walsingham,  here  comes  a  delegation  of 
ladies  across  the  3'ard  They  have  been  scouring  the  town 
in  quest  of  you  for  the  last  half-hour.  I  came  in  to  tell  you, 
but  forgot  it.  I'm  going  to  take  leg-bail  through  the  back 
door.      So  good-bye." 

"For  God's  sake,  why  did  you  not  tell  me  before  ! "  exclaimed 
Walsingham  excitedly,  jumping  to  his  feet  and  running  into 
his  coat  with  a  precipitancy  something  akin  to  the  per- 
formance of  a  clown  in  a  circus.  This  done  he  made  haste  to  ar- 
range his  clustering  brown  ringlets,  but  the   attempt  failed. 

The  fair  clients  were  upon  him. 

There  were  four  of  them.  Two  of  them  he  recognized  at  a 
glance,     One  of  these  was  a  governess,  a  Philadelphia  lady, 


30  TOM  BURTON. 

who  had  charge  of  the  most  respectable  boarding-school  in 
the  country;  a  thick-set  blondish  woman  of  thirty-five,  rather 
plain  featured,  with  a  kind  of  Queen  Victoria  physique.  The 
other  was  a  Miss  Moore,  a  fair  and  beautiful  blonde,  tall, 
graceful,  and  captivating,  with  eyes  extremely  large  and  full, 
and  a  wealth  of  brown  hair  which  seemed  to  ripple  in  wave- 
lets about  a  rather  prominent  forehead.  Of  the  other  two 
the  first  was  a  Miss  Savage,  a  young  lady  rather  stout,  and  of 
l^hlegmatic  temperament,  with  no  pretense  to  beauty  or  style. 

The  fourth  and  last  was  a  young  girl  probably  of  seventeen 
summers,  small  in  stature,  dark  in  complexion,  retiring  in 
manner,  but  very  handsome.  Her  dark  eyes  M'ere  pensive 
rather  that  brilliant,  her  forehead  narrow,  brows  arching, 
nose  slightly  acquiline  with  lips  just  thick  enough  when  closed 
to  form  an  aurelean  bow  as  perfect  as  that  of  tlie  god  of 
love,  and  as  prognostic  of  darts  as  the  quiver  he  wears  at  his 
back.  She  was  presented  to  his  lawyership  as  Miss  Mary 
Burton.  Walsingham  bowed  an  acknowledgment  of  the 
honor,  grew  slighty  red  and  remarked : 

"I  believe  we  have  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  before." 

"  I  have  every  reason  to  think  as  much,  myself,"  replied 
the  young  lady.  "  I  was  a  child  then,  though,"  she  added 
with  a  slight  show  of  embarrassment. 

"  Indeed,  I  have  been  your  debtor  ever  since.  And  now, 
without  any  desire  to  recall  the  unpleasant  circumstance,  do 
wish  to  discharge  that  obligation  as  far  as  words  are  capable 
of  so  doing,"  continued  Walsingham,  growing  more  at  ease 
in  his    manner. 

Miss  Burton  blushed  in  spite  of  herself.  But  forcing  a 
smile  she  replied  :  "  Beally  I  do  not  feel  that  you  owe  me 
any  thing.  I  was  always  a  very  foolish  child,  head-strong 
and  impulsive.  You  know  young  people  often  do  foolish 
things." 

"  Then  if  I  understand,  you  mean  to  say  that  you  would 
not  act  in  the  same  manner  under  similar  circumstances  ?  '' 

"Well,  I  should  think  not,  sir.  Of  course,  I  would  not. 
What  might  be  pardoned  then  as  a  childish  freak  would 
make  me  appear  in  a  very  ridiculous  light  now,  Mr.  Walsing- 
ham." 

'•  Then,  I  think,  it's  a  great  pity  some  people  ever  get  to 
be  grown  up.  If  I  should  ever  need  your  services  again,  I 
am  sure  I  should  wish  such  a  child  within  the  sound  of  my 
cries  for  help,"  he  said,  teasing  her.  "But  those  old  days  are 
past.  Miss  Burton,  and  we'll  let  them  rest." 

During  this  conversation  all  the   ladies,   especially  Mis3 


TOM  BTJRTOn.  •  31 

Blake,  the  governess,  evinced  an  impatience  they  very  indif- 
ferently concealed.  The  latter  had  jDut  up  her  mouth  to 
speak  at  least  twenty  times,  but  finding  she  could  not  get  in 
at  the  right  place,  she  turned  the  battery  of  her  eyes  upon 
her  offending  pu2)il  with  good  effect,  and  finally  addressed 
herself  to  the  young  law^^'er. 

"You  are  aware,  Mr.  Walsingham,  we  are  going  to  have  a 
celebration  of  the  Fourth  at  Buzzard  Hill  ?  " 

"  So  I  have  just  heard  a  moment  ago." 

"  And  we  are  a  committee  sent  from  the  ladies'  picnic 
club  to  tender  you  an  invitation  to  speak  for  us  on  that  occa- 
sion." 

"You  do  me  a  very  great  honor.  Miss  Blake,  and  I  desire 
that  you  convey  my  appreciation  of  the  same  to  the  club, 
but,  really,  I  must  beg  to  be  excused." 

"  Oh,  please,  do  not  decline,"  put  in  two  or  three  ladies  at 
the  same  time. 

Miss  Burton  had  turned  her  face  away  from  the  others. 
She  appeared  to  be  inspecting  the  law  literature  in  the  book- 
case. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Walsingham,  you  don't  say  that  jou  wall  dis- 
appoint us  after  we  have  selected  you  in  preference  to  any 
other  of  the  young  lawyers  inDrummondtown,  and  have  come 
all  this  long  way  to  invite  you.  We  shall  regard  it  very  un- 
kind in  you  to  deny  us." 

Mr.  Walsingham  held  his  head  slightly  to  one  side,  and  in 
a  half  reflective  mood  replied  to  the  last  onslaught. 

"I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  what  else  to  say." 

"You  can  say  3^es,"  said  languid  Miss  Savage,  w^ith  an 
effort. 

"  And  I  am  sure  he  could  if  he  w^ould,"  put  in  Miss  ]\[oore, 
modestly. 

Now,  Mr.  Claude  w'as  an  acknowledged  ladies'  man,  and 
he  disliked  to  refuse  any  reasonable  request  they  might  make 
of  him.  So,  while  there  was  something  in  a  Fourth  of  July 
oration  that  was  exceedingly  disgusting,  he  began  to  take 
the  offer  into  serious  consideration. 

The  Northern  brogue  of  Miss  Blake,  it  must  be  said,  did 
not  help  her  cause  any.  All  the  time  she  was  urging  her 
case,  her  bold  manners  and  flippant  conversation  were  telling 
against  it.  Not  that  she,  poor  thing,  had  anything  at  all  to 
do  with  politics  or  the  negro  question  ;  nothing  w^as  further 
from  her  designs.  She  would  have  married  the  greatest 
rebel  in  the  South,  with  a  whole  plantation  of  slaves,  if  she 
could  have  done  so ;  but  she  was  a  Northern  woman,  and  her 


32  TOM  BURTON. 

accent  bored  Claude.     But,  on  the  other  side  of  the  question, 
there  were  advantages  not  to  be  overlooked. 

Many  of  the  richest  and  best  families  in  the  county  were 
represented  in  Miss  Blake's  school. 

To  decline  was  to  disdain  a  distinguished  honor.  It  was  to 
lose  an  opportunity  to  display  his  oratorical  talents  which 
did  not  present  itself  every  day.  If  there  were  not  millions 
in  it,  there  certainly  might  grow  hundreds  out  of  it.  It 
was  a  small  matter  for  him  to  reconsider  his  hast}'-  refusal. 

"  All  of  you  ladies  have  had  something  to  say  about  this 
matter  but  Miss  Burton.  Has  my  little  protector  no  plea 
to  urge  ?  "  saying  which  he  turned  toward  the  young  lady, 
who  was  still  absorbed  in  reading  the  titles  of  the  law  books. 

"  Oh  never  mind  me,"  she  replied ;  "  I  represent  the  mi- 
nority." 

*'  It  is  to  be  a  grand  affair,"  continued  Miss  Blake  ;  talk- 
ing as  rapidly  as  a  mill-wheel  turns,  treading  every  step 
upon  the  sensitive  Southern  nerves  of  her  listener's  auditory 
organs  with  her  short  o's  and  her  French  u's.  Not  so  much  a 
celebration  in  the  Northern  sense  of  the  word  as  a  real  good 
time,  with  fried  chicken,  new  potatoes,  June  apple-pies,  and 
pretty  girls  ad  libitum J^ 

"  It  must  be  admitted,  Miss  Blake,  that  you  present  your 
case  with  the  sagacity  of  an  accomplished  lawyer.  You  appeal 
to  the  asthetic  as  well  as  the  physical  man,  and  completely 
cover  the  ground  with  your  sweeping  argument." 

"  I,  for  one,  do  not  see  how  you  do  stand  it,'^  said  wear}^ 
Miss  Savage  in  her  most  whining  tones,  as  she  fanned  her- 
self with  a  sort  of  summer-day  air. 

''Well,  let  us  hear  from  the  minority  now,"  said  Claude, 
again  turning  upon  Miss  Burton. 

"  She  says,  of  course,  just  what  we  all  say  that  jou.  cannot 
decently  get  out  of  it.  So  that's  all  there  is  to  it,"  said  the 
school-mistress,  speaking  for  her  pupil. 

*^  Well,  well,  I  suppose  if  Miss  Burton  will  take  as  good 
care  of  me  as  she  did  on  a  former  occasion  I  will  agree  to 
accommodate  you,  ladies,"  he  said  teasingly. 

Miss  Blake  was  provoked  at  his  constant  allusion  to  what 
she  did  not  understand,  and  wanted  to  know  what  it  was 
about. 

"  Oh  never  mind  that,"  replied  Claude ;  "  it  is  a  little  secret 
between  Miss  Burton  and  myself." 

Miss  Moore  grew  a  trifle  uneasy  at  this  remark,  and  every 
body  seemed  ill  at  ease  but  Claude,  who  evidentlj^  enjoyed 
the  scene.     Miss  Burton  proceeded  : 


TOM  BURTON.  33 

"  I  promise  you,  I  will  not  attempt  to  play  in  such  a  role 
as  on  a  former  occasion,  Mr.  Walsingham  ;  and  if  you  are  so 
unfortunate  as  to  fall  into  the  bay  on  the  Fourth  of  July,  or 
get  into  any  other  sort  of  scrape,  you  will  have  to  depend 
upon  some  of  these  other  ladies  to  pull  you  out.  They  are 
stronger  than  I  am,  and  can  do  you  better  service." 

Everybody  laughed  at  this  sally,  except  Miss  Moore,  who 
maintained  a  dignified  composure. 

"  Then  we  shall  take  back  a  favorable  reply,  shall  we  not  ?  " 
said  Miss  Blake. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  you  may.  But  you  must  not  expect  too 
much.     Eemember  I  am  no  Fourth  of  July  orator. 

"  Let  that  be  our  look-out,"  was  Miss  Blake's  reply. 

"  By  Heavens !  what  a  little  beauty  that  Miss  Mary  has 
grown  to  be.  What  a  pity  she  is  a  Burton.  I  could  love 
her  in  a  minute,  "  ejaculated  Claude  after  the  ladies  had  re- 
tired, as  he  threw  himself  into  his  easy  chair  again,  not  to 
sleep  this  time,  for  it  was  nearly  noon,  and  his  appetite  began 
to  warn  him  that  in  a  few  minutes  the  tavern  bell  would 
summon  him  to  dinner. 

The  two  weeks  intervening  passed  away  very  quickly,  and 
the  booming  of  cannon  in  the  morning  awoke  the  children  of 
the  peninsula  that  day  much  earlier  than  usual.  They  had 
doubtless  been  dreaming  of  the  holiday,  not  of  fire-crackers 
and  bombs  and  sky-rockets,  for  they  knew  nothing  about 
these  things,  happy  urchins ;  but  their  heads  were  full  of 
Buzzard  Hills,  and  picnics,  and  a  good  time  generally  along 
the  bay  shore.  They  woke  suddenly  and  joyously  at  the 
boom  of  the  deep-toned  guns  at  Fortress  Monroe,  thirty  or 
forty  miles  away.  There  were  some  grown  people  whose 
morning  nap  was  cut  short  by  the  same  cause ;  for  although 
it  was  oat  harvest,  the  weary  plodders  of  the  farm  had  agreed 
to  take  a  day's  rest,  and  were  sleeping  late  that  summer 
morning. 

Great  anticipations  possessed  the  minds  of  all  classes. 

To  the  hard-worked  plough-boy  who  had  been  fed  for  the 
last  four  months  on  fried  bacon  and  corn  bread,  with  meal 
mush  and  black  molasses  for  dessert,  there  appeared  visions  of 
long  tables  groaning  under  the  weight  of  the  most  palatable 
viands,  such  as  roast  lamb  and  pig,  boiled  and  fried  chicken, 
and  pies,  and  tarts  without  number,  with  frozen  custard  at 
ten  cents  a  glass.  (They  measured  their  ice  cream  in  wine 
glasses.) 

To  the  half-grown  youngsters  raised  in  the  high-woods 
(the  middle  ground  of  the  peninsula),  the  bay  with  its  vast 


34  TOM  BUBT.ON. 

and  sparkling  sheet  of  water  glistening  in  the  sunshine,  the 
sight  of  crabs  crawling,  and  fish  disporting  themselves  in  its 
limpid  depths,  the  privilege  to  wade  with  trousers  tucked  up 
above  the  knees — this  was  sufficient  for  them. 

But  to  the  mind  of  the  young  fellow  whose  change  of  voice 
had  come  over  him,  and  whose  upper  lip  began  to  look 
downy — he  whose  inward  being  had  been  touched  by  the  influ- 
ence of  the  spring  just  gone  by  as  the  sapling  had  been 
touched  in  the  grove,  tliere  w^as  in  his  mind  nothing  else  but 
fairy-like  creatures  clad  in  cambric,  spotless  and  white,  even 
to  their  stockings,  the  odor  of  wild  flowers,  the  smell  of 
acanthus  and  heliotrope. 

And  what  w-as  on  Claude's  mind  ? — A  crowd  of  listen- 
ing people,  rapt  and  spell-bound,  as  they  listened  to 
the  impassioned  words  of  an  orator  about  his  size,  the  approv- 
ing smiles  of  women,  w'ith  one  small  dark-ej^ed  girl  standing 
afar  off,  in  careless  attitude,  but  cognizant  of  all  that  was 
going  on  ! 

But  why  go  on  to  paint  an  imaginary  picture  when  a  short 
ride  from  the  interior  of  the  county  will  take  us  to  the  very 
spot,  and  w^e  can  observe  the  whole  scene  as  it  actually 
occurred. 

As  we  approach  the  bluff,  driving  down  through  a  delight- 
fully shaded  woods  road,  where  the  scent  of  cedar  and  myrtle 
fills  the  soft  air,  and  the  cooing  of  the  turtle  doves  are  forever 
reminding  us  of  the  first  lines  of  Bja'on's  "Bride  of  Abydos," 
suddenly'-,  as  we  leave  the  forest,  a  magnificent  view  bursts 
upon  our  vision. 

The  great  Chesapeake,  apparently''  as  boundless,  but  less 
boisterous,  than  the  Atlantic,  is  spread  out  before  us  glittering 
and  shimmering,  until  it  fades  away  into  the  purple  and 
gray  horizon. 

Rolling  hills  of  sand,  snow-white,  stretch  along  the  shore, 
contrasting  finely  with  the  dark-green  foliage  of  the  back- 
ground. 

We  find  this  much  mentioned  Buzzard  Hill  to  be  a  low 
promontory  jutting  outinto  the  bay,  connected  with  the  main- 
land by  a  narrow  neck  of  land,  but  containing  in  itself  several 
acres  of  ground,  plentifully  supplied  with  shade  trees.  We  ap- 
proach it,  and  observe  on  the  bluff  the  white  tops  of  some  camp- 
meeting  tents,  awnings,  etc.  A  throng  of  country  people,  of 
all  sorts  and  sizes,  are  already  assembled,  conspicuous  among 
whom  are  fifty  or  sixt}^  3'ouths  in  brand-new  cadet  uniforms. 
Their  preceptor  is  there  also,  w^earingthe  shoulder  straps. of  a 
captain.     A  flag  is  floating   from  a  staff  in  the   center  of  the 


TOM  BURTON.  35 

grounds.  It  waves  fretfully,  as  if  teased  by  the  inconstant 
west  wind  which  flares  up  now  and  then  with  a  will,  only  to 
die  away  again  to  a  mere  breath.  The  day  is  very  hot.  Along 
the  shore  the  unhitched  vehicles  look  like  black  beetles  that 
have  crawled  up  out  of  the  water,  to  dry  themselves  in  the 
sun. 

A  cannon — a  twelve-pounder — has  been  hauled  down  to  the 
outer  edge  of  the  bluff  overlooking  the  coast.  It  has  been 
unlimbered  by  the  cadets,  and  is  ready  for  action. 

It  is  an  old  Revolutionary  piece,  has  the  appearance  of  great 
age,  and  evidently  has  a  history  of  its  own.  We  draw  nearer 
and  perceive  that  men  are  busy  laying  tables,  and  Avomen 
spreading  cloth  thereon.  Our  visionary  lads  from  the  high 
woods  are  already  carousing  in  the  water,  some  of  their 
apparel  past  condition  for  ironing. 

Pairs  of  lovers  carelessly  saunter  along  the  shore,  occupy 
buggies,  or  sit  under  the  live  oaks.  Not  many  under  the  oaks, 
there  is  too  much  company  there.  The  busy  governess  is 
flying  around  superintending  everything,  and  anxious  that 
all  shall  be  done  "  a  la  Phil'delphia." 

The  noon  hour  draws  nigh. 

Mr.  Claude    has  arrived,    and   is    gallanting    Miss  Moore. 

Mary  Burton  is  there  also,  walking  along  the  beach,  casting 
pebbles  into  the  bay,  or  sitting  down  on  the  grass,  with  her 
pretty  little  feet  dangling  over  the  side  of  the  steep  bank. 
She  is  moody  and  reflective,  her  attention  directed  to  a  white 
sail  becalmed  in  the  distance,  thinking,  perhaps,  of  her  brother 
Tom,  for  she  wipes  away  a  tear.  She  wonders  where  he  is 
gone,  and  if  he  ever  w^ll  reform  and  come  back  to  the  Eastern 
shore  again.  "  God  bless  and  preserve  him,  wherever  he  may 
be,"  she  mentally  ejaculates.  She  thinks  how  lively  he  used  to 
be  ;  of  his  sorrows  and  his  wrongs  ;  of  the  old  meeting-house, 
and  her  honest,  pious  parents  whom  she  will  never  see  again. 

She  thinks  of  something  else,  when  Claude  Walsingham 
passes  by  at  a  short  distance  with  Miss  Moore  leaning  on 
his  arm.  *'  They  must  be  lovers,"  she  sa3^s.  "  I  wonder  if 
they  will  ever  be  married  ?  "  But  even  while  she  is  putting 
this  question  to  herself  she  does  not  notice  that  he  has  led 
the  young  lady  to  a  seat,  and,  leaving  her,  is  approaching  in 
her  direction,  until  she  hears  his  footsteps  and  looks  up. 

How  suddenly  the  circulation  of  her  blood  is  increased. 
There  is  no  appreciable  cause  for  it,  but  her  heart  flies  away 
with  itself,  and  jumps  up  and  down  as  if  it  will  choke  her. 

The  young  lawyer  salutes  her;  and  as  he  lifts  his  hat  the 
wind  toys  with  his  brown  locks. 


36  TOM  BURTON. 

"What  a  selfish  way  you  have  of  treating  us  all,  Miss 
Mary,"  are  his  first  words.  "  You  keep  off  here  to  yourself 
and  court  solitude  with  the  avidity  of  a  hermit,  Pray  what 
can  be  done  to  amuse  you  ?  " 

"  What  reason  have  you,  Mr.  Walsingham,  to  assume  that 
I  am  not  sufficiently  amused  ?  "  she  replies  in  a  tone  a  little 
more  severe  than  she  intended. 

'•I  trust  nothing  has  gone  wrong  with  you,  I  should  be 
sorry  to  know  you  were  ill  on  this  gala  day,  Miss  Burton," 
he  rejoins." 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  well,  thank  you.  I  am  happier  when  alone ; 
that,  is  outside  of  a  crowd.  I  dislike  crowds."  She  evidently 
tries  to  speak  more  cheerfulh\  '-Changing  the  subject,  Mr. 
Orator,  wlien  do  you  hold  forth  ?  " 

"  The  time  is  fixed,  I  think,  at  half-past  eleven.  I  heartily 
wish  it  was  over." 

"  Do  you  really  dislike  to  speak  ?  " 

"  It  is  to  me  a  great  cross,  as  you  Methodist  people  some- 
times say  in  your  class  meetings." 

"  You  lawyers  should  not  mind  speaking,  I  am  sure  you 
have  enough  of  it  to  do." 

"True,  but  that  is  a  different  thing  to  this  business.  In 
the  court-house  we  talk  for  money,  and  seldom  have  any 
ladies  present." 

"Does  it  embarrass  you  so  to  speak  before  ladies  ?  Let  me 
assure  you  they  are  less  critical  than  men.  Flatter  them  a 
little  and  you'll  soon  gain  their  applause." 

"I  can't  say  as  much  as  that;  but  I  do  honestly  believe 
that  ladies,  as  a  general  thing,  forget  and  forgive  much  more 
readily  than  men." 

"But  sometimes  remember  what  m'c  ought  in  justice  to 
ourselves  to  forget."  She  blurted  out  unthinkingly  as  she 
cast  her  eyes  over  the  bay. 

"Will  you  hear  me  speak  to-day  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will.     Why  not  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,  I  supposed  you  too  disinterested."  There 
was  a  short  pause.  "  After  the  exercises  at  the  stand  the 
cadets  are  to  fire  minute  guns,"  he  went  on.  "  Alas  !  they  are 
learning  the  art  of  war  full  soon.  I  fear  they  will  need  all 
the  knowledge  they  can  acquire  in  that  line  long  before  they 
are  grown.  You,  I  believe,  Miss  Mary,  do  not  take  much 
interest  in  politics  ?" 

"  No.  To  one  who  has  suffered  as  I  have,  on  account  of 
such  matters,  that  subject  has  nothing  for  me  but  pain." 

"  You   are  right,  Miss  Mary,  very  right,  and  I  was  wrong 


TOM  BURTON.  37 

to  speak  of  it.  "But  in  view  of  the  past,  and  the  prospects  of 
the  future  will  you  not  allow  me  to  be  your  friend  ?  " 

"I  thank  you,  sir,  for  your  kindness  ;  but  a  friendless  girl 
above  all  others  should  never  show  herself  a  mendicant  for 
friendship,  if  thereby  she  is  likely  in  the  least  to  incur  the 
smallest  obligation."  She  is  not  looking  him  in  the  face, 
now.     Her  eyes  are  bent  upon  the  ground. 

"  That,  then,  is  why  you  prefer  to  wander  off  here  alone, 
I  presume." 

"  Partly  so." 

"  Then  it  ought  to  be  gratifying  to  you  to  have  foolish 
people  like  me  follow  you  out  into  j^our  desert  places,  eh  ?  " 

"  A  woman  is  always  gratified  when  her  plans  succeed," 
was  her  quiet  repartee. 

He  is  about  to  go  on  when  she  interrupts  him. 

^'  See,  they  are  moving  toward  the  stand  now,  and  some 
one  is  calling  you." 

^^  Will  you  go  up  with  me  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you.     Go  on,  I  will  follow  alone. 

She  proceeds  at  her  leisure  taking  time  to  ask  herself 
what  there  is  in  Claude  Walsingham's  manner  or  person 
that  makes  him  appear  to  her  unlike  any  other  man.  What 
spell  does  he  possess  more  than  others  to  make  her  feel  to- 
day that  if  the  instincts  of  womanly  modesty  were  not  pres- 
ent with  her,  she  would,  on  a  like  occasion  do  just  as  she 
did  at  Burton's  meeting  house  ? 

She  cannot  solve  the  problem. 

A  gulf  as  wide  as  Acheron  and  as  impassible  as  the  river 
of  Styx  divided  them.  He  was  a  patrician  of  the  patricians, 
a  Bourbon  of  the  Bourbons.  She,  the  daughter  of  a  plebeian 
and  an  abolitionist. 

Her  pride  rebels.  She  ridicules  and  contemns  her  soft- 
heartedness,  and  she  goes  on. 

The  people  gather  in  front,  behind  and  on  all  sides  of  the 
speaker's  stand.  The  cadets  stand  in  line  on  the  right, 
Captain  Hall  mounts  the  steps,  comes  to  the  front  of  the 
rostrum  and  in  a  few  brief  words  introduces  the  orator  of  the 
day. 

Then  Claude  begins.  He  is  slightly  embarrassed  at  first, 
at  least  appears  to  be  sufficiently  so  to  gain  the  sympathy  of 
his  audience,  but  as  soon  as  they  seem  to  be  disgusted  that 
he  does  not  proceed  in  a  more  interesting  manner,  he  slowly 
begins  to  open  up  his  theme,  as  an  organist  pulling  out  his 
stops,  until  not  one  in  that  vast  crowd  has  any  more  fear 
about  their  speaker's  ability,  or  that  he  has  power  in  reserve 
to  gratify  all  their  rhetorical  longings. 


38  TOM  BURTON. 

With  his  profuse  locks  gently  lifted  by  the  soft  summer 
breeze,  his  manly  form  growing  taller  as  he  rises  to  grand 
and  unlooked-for  flights  of  eloquence — his  gesticulation  perfect 
his  finely  formed  hand,  not  widely  extended,  but  sufficiently 
unclasped  to  show  its  ample  palm,  giving  to  his  sweeping 
gesture  the  twofold  power  of  husbanded  resources  on  the  one 
hand,  and  generous  impulses  on  the  other,  he  carries  his 
hearers  along  with  him  from  topic  to  topic,  striding  here  and 
there  along  the  perilous  peaks  of  oratory,  or  poising  on  some 
beetling  crag  as  overawing  as  the  spectre  of  the  Brocken.  And 
then,  venturing  to  reach  some  toppling  summit  like  a  daring 
Alpine  hunter,  filling  all  the  people  with  dread  of  his  doubtful 
situation  and  bold  attempt,  and  ere  they  have  time  to  think 
astonishing  them  by  a  leap  so  grand,  that  they  hold  their 
breath,  assuring  even  those  whose  envy  he  may  have  excited 
that  he  has  the  ability  to  walk  anywhere  and  everywhere — as 
he  does  all  this,  the  hearts  of  the  multitudes  well  up  into 
their  throats  and  the  very  bluff  trembles  with  applause. 

We  listen  and  are  compelled  to  admit  that  whatever  of 
calm  dignity  there  may  be  in  the  speeches  of  I^orthern  men, 
there  is  something  in  a  Virginia  orator  that  smacks  of  the 
ancients  and  carries  us  back  to  the  grand  old  days  of  Demos- 
thenes and  Cicero  in  the  Acropolis  and  the  Koman  Forum. 

But  alas  and  alack  for  such  eloquence  when  it  is  used  to 
lead  men  astray !  w^hen  it  plucks  out  the  eyes  of  Truth  and 
tampers  with  the  scales  of  Justice  ! 

Here  on  this  great  day,  than  one  more  precious  to  the 
world  it  were  hard  to  find — here,  under  the  drooping  banner, 
the  pride  and  glory  of  the  grandest  Republic,  the  sons  of  men 
have  been  permitted  to  gaze  upon,  here  upon  an  atmosphere 
made  ambrosial  by  the  breath  of  America's  greatest  heroes, 
rang  out  even  then  the  poisoned  venom  of  rebellion  which 
found  an  ear  as  eager  to  listen  as  that  of  Eve  when  Satan 
wooed  her  heart  away  from  Eden's  lovely  bowers. 

It  was  such  eloquence  as  this,  reader,  which  was  destined 
to  change  our  heaven  of  peace  to  a  a]mdemonium  of  discord, 
and  for  four  sad  years  to  send  red  ruin  forth  to  prey  upon  a 
devoted  land. 

ISTo  w^onder  that  from  the  time  he  begins  to  speak  of 
breaking  asunder  the  Union  of  the  States,  the  air  grows 
murky,  a  dark  cloud  gathers  in  the  far  west,  and  sullen 
thunder  mutters  back  a  solemn  and  impressive  protest  as  the 
shouts  of  a  crazed  and  deluded  people  float  over  the  sleeping 
bay. 

Mary   Burton  had  sauntered  up  to  the  place  of  all  attraC' 


TOM  BUMTOI^.  39 

tion,  and  quietly  taken  her  seat  within  easy  hearing  of  the 
impassioned  speaker.  At  first  she  is  not  greatly  moved. 
She  knows  very  well  the  sentiments  and  temper  of  the 
orator,  and  she  makes  up  her  mind  to  be  only  a  passive 
listener. 

But  as  the  people  begin  to  cheer  and  the  speaker,  himself, 
catching  the  inspiration  of  his  own  genius  rises  to  the  pro- 
portion of  Apollo  himself,  the  old  feelings  come  back  and  she 
longs  to  rush  forward  and  throw  herself  at  his  feet  as  before 
a  god.  She  trembles,  and  before  she  is  aware  of  it,  is  weep- 
ing. What  he  says  after  that  she  knows  not.  All  is  con- 
fusion ;  and  time  goes  by  unmeasured. 

The  breaking  up  of  the  audience  raises  a  deafening  out- 
burst of  applause  that  reluctantly  subsides,  and  the  quick 
sharp  voice  of  Captain  Hall  speaking  to  his  cadets  arouses  her 
to  full  consciousness.  The  bo^^s  move  off  in  fine  style.  The 
crowd  follows. 

Mary  looks  around  like  one  awakened  out  of  sleep. 

Where  was  Claude  ?  She  does  not  see  him.  She  dare 
not  inquire  ;  and  yet  a  strange  feeling  comes  over  her  that 
she  must  find  him.  She  starts  after  the  crowd.  She  has  not 
proceeded  far  before  she  is  shocked  by  the  intonations  of  a 
great  sound  which  shakes  the  ground  under  her  feet  and 
enshrouds  the  bluff  in  a  thick  volume  of  sulphurous  smoke, 
which  almost  stifles  her. 

An  unspeakable  dread  of  some  impending  calamity  seizes 
her. 

She  has  but  one  thought.  Where  is  Claude  ?  She  cannot 
contain  herself.  Pale  as  death  she  runs  forward  into  the 
thickest  of  the  crowd.  By  the  time  she  reaches  the  place 
where  the  firing  is  taking  place,  another  and  still  another 
explosion  has  shaken  bay  and  bluff,  and  the  well  trained 
cadets  are  swabbing  the  gun  for  another  charge. 

This  time  they  succeed  but  imperfectly.  They  are  grow- 
ing weary.  The  boj?-  at  the  vent  has  a  look  of  agony  on  his 
face.     The  piece  is  hot  and  burns  his  thumb. 

They  insert  the  cartridge  and  press  the  ramrod  into  the 
gun's  muzzle  to  force  it  home  ;  but  it  will  not  go. 

Claude  Walsingham,  his  face  still  flushed  with  the  glow  of 
a  great  victory,  is  standing  by  the  side  of  Miss  Moore. 

She  suggests,  "  Can  you  not  help  the  boys  ?  "  Certainly  he 
can.  He  sprirgs  toward  the  muzzle  of  the  gun,  but  he  does 
not  reach  it ;  with  a  look  as  wild  as  that  of  a  maniac  Mary 
Burton  rushes  between  him  and  it,  her  white  muslin  dress 
smoking  from  contact  with  the  heated  metal.     She   clutches 


40  TOM  BURTON, 

his  arm  imploringly.  He  steps  back,  looks  into  her  face  and 
frowns.  A  murmur  of  disapprobation  runs  through  the  by- 
standers. Immediately,  Captain  Hall  forcing  back  the  boys, 
seizes  the  stick  on  one  side  and  a  farmer's  lad  the  other  and 
they  drive  the  cartridge  home.  The  unprotected  finger  of 
the  boy  is  raised  from  the  vent  and  the  very  ground  seems  to 
suddenly  recede  from  beneath  the  feet  of  the  multitude. 
The  whole  place  is  covered  with  a  pall  of  smoke.  It  lifts  a 
little.  Mary  is  still  clutching  the  arm  of  Claude.  They  are 
both  white  as  corpses  now.  There  is  a  slight  stir  among  the 
people  which  increases  to  a  panic.     Something  has  happened. 

There  is  an  odor  of  charred  human  flesh  and  burning  rags. 
Men  look  hurriedly  here  and  there.  From  the  cannon's 
mouth  to  the  verge  of  the  bluff  lie  shreds  of  something  which 
resembles  clothing.  "  It  is  the  wadding,'^  say  some.  But 
what  is  that  beyond  ?  "  A  human  arm  !  Great  God  !  " 
Two  men  are  blown  into  atoms.  The  old  gun  which  had 
belched  forth  death  to  tyranny  at  Yorktown  had  gagged  at 
the  touch  of  treason  ! 

All  this  time  the  cloud  has  been  rising.  Its  lurid  out- 
lines stretch  from  north  to  south,  the  whole  extent  of  the 
western  shore,  and  now  it  strikes  the  bay.  Its  M'hirling 
nimbus  almost  sweeps  the  water.  An  eygre  soars  white- 
crested  before  it.  A  blinding  flash  of  lightning  wraps  the 
bluff  in  flame,  and  the  tornado  is  upon  the  picnickers.  Con- 
sternation ensues.  The  spread  tables  are  overturned.  Horses, 
wnld  with  terror,  run  up  and  down  the  bay  shore,  neighing 
piteously.  jSIothers  scream  frantically  for  their  lost  children. 
There  is  a  stampede  for  home.  Nature  revolts  at  the  blas- 
phemy. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    SPY. 

Remo"VED  by  the  space  of  thirty  years  from  the  stirring 
scenes  of  those  rebellious  daj^s,  how  amazing  it  is  to  contem- 
plate the  rapidity  with  which  their  events  followed  each 
other,  culminating  at  last  in  the  war.  Indeed,  the  period, 
in  its  connections  with  the  past  history  of  the  country, 
formed  one  of  the  grandest  chimeras  the  world  has  ever 
seen.  The  gradations  of  that  wonderful  impulse  from  the 
Fanueil  Hall  fracas,  the  day  on  which  Wendell  Phillips,  with 


TOM  BURTON,  41 

a  faith  as  steadfast  as  that  of  Israel's  ancient  haw-giver,  chose, 
like  him,  to  suffer  affliction  with  the  peoj^le  of  God  than  en- 
joy the  pleasures  of  sin  for  a  season,  were  as  momentous  and 
as  rapid  in  their  course  as  a  tidal  wave,  which,  rising  in  th« 
far-ofif  depths  of  ocean  and  moving  coastward,  gathering 
force  and  speed  along  its  way,  hursts  at  last  in  awful  grandeur 
upon  the  shore. 

Everything  was  ripe  for  the  C07(p  de  etat.  The  raid  of 
Old  Ossawattomie  was  the  straw  that  broke  the  camel's 
hack.  The  firing  upon  the  "  Star  of  the  West "  in  Charleston 
Harbor  was  a  natural  consequence. 

_  With  a  spontaniety  worthy  of  a  better  cause,  and  really 
giving  to  the  general  uprising  a  superficial  appearance  of 
justness  as  well  as  necessity,  such  as  characterized  the  revo- 
lutionary movement  of  '76,'' the  people  of  the  Southern  States 
flew  to  arms. 

There  was,  of  course,  some  division  of  sentiment  on  the 
border ;  but  in  the  heart  of  the  Confederacy  there  was  either 
no  Unionism  or  it  was  crushed  out  immediately. 

The   county  of    Accomack  was    the   home  "of  the   '^  fiery 
-  Wise."     You  might  have  counted  all  the  Union  men  in  that 
county  on  the  tips  of  your  fingers. 

Mary  Burton's  guardian  and  uncle,  George  ^lason,  was 
one  of  these.  Though  persecuted,  despised,  and  counted 
worse  than  a  felon,  he  never  gave  up  his  allegiance  to  the 
Constitution  and  the  flag.  Xo  promises  on  the  one  hand  nor 
threats  on  the  other  affected  him.  Xor  was  there  one  par- 
ticle of  selfishness  in  his  patriotism.  It  was  not  to  increase 
his  wealth,  for  not  only  his  property,  but  his  life,  was  in 
danger.  It  was  not  for  notoriety,  for  no  man  was  more 
modest  and  retiring.  Friends  he  had  none,  except  it  might 
have  been  colored  people.  When  visiting  other  people's 
houses  on  business  he  was  not  allowed  to  approach  the  great 
house.  In  bad  weather  he  was  sent  on  such  occasions  to  the 
kitchen.^  As  a  natural  consequence  his  family  suffered  with 
him.  ISTo  one  visited  them.  Xo  one  invited  them  out. 
They  were  relegated  to  the  domain  of  isolation.  Was  a 
member  of  the  household  ill,  no  neighbor  came  to  assist  or 
offer  consolation.  The  footstep  of  a  friendly  visitor  never 
crossed  his  threshold.  The  kindly  face  of  a  neighbor  never 
even  looked  over  his  fence.  He  was  sneered  at  on  the  high- 
way, and  spat  upon.  Ladies  turned  their  backs  upon  him 
when  they  met  him  in  the  streets  of  the  neighboring  village, 
and  drew  aside  their  skirts  when  they  came  in  contact  with 
his  wife  at  church.     Parents   taught  their  children  to  hoot, 


42  TOM  BURTON, 

to  cast  stones  and  rotten  eggs  at  him,  and  to  kill  his  live 
stock  wherever  found. 

Of  course  Mary  did  not  escape.  She  was  soon  forced  out 
of  school  and  cast  out  of  society,  just  as  a  gardener  plucks  up 
a  noxious  weed  and  casts  it  out  into  the  ditch. 

Farmers  who  owned  places  next  to  his  sold  their  farms,  or 
moved  away  and  suffered  them  to  grow  up  into  brambles. 
The  whole  neighborhood  suffered  a  blight.  The  sin  of 
Unionism,  like  the  sin  of  our  first  parents,  tainted  even  the 
earth. 

Did  Mr.  Mason  feel  it,  did  you  ask  ?  "Was  he  a  stone  ? 
Was  the  epidermis  of  an  Abolitionist  so  thick  that  such  keen 
and  cruel  thrusts  could  not  pierce  it  ? 

Of  course  he  felt  it.  Of  course  it  was  hard  for  him  to 
hold  his  head  u])  when  he  went  out  into  the  village  ;  of  course 
he  walked  nervously  and  had  a  downcast  look  about  him. 

Did  he  look  careworn  and  sallow  ?  Could  he  look  other- 
wise, when  his  children  pined  at  home  ;  when  his  wife,  in- 
dustrious and  patient  as  she  was,  found  herself  cut  off  from  all 
intercourse  with  society,  and  her  daughters  treated  as  if  they 
had  been  harlots  ?  People  said  he  looked  bad  because  he  was 
a  bad  man,  and  that  all  Abolitionists  were  white-livered. 

The  government  has  pensioned  its  soldiers,  built  homes 
for  those  who  are  alive  and  raised  monuments  to  the  memory 
of  those  who  are  dead ;  but  for  those  who  suffered  for  her  as 
no  man  ever  suffered  on  the  battle-field,  she  has  not  even  a 
good  word.  The  last  man  to  attain  an  office  in  the  United 
States  to-day  is  the  consistent,  original  Union  man  of  the 
South.     W^ell  may  it  be  said.  Republics  are  ungrateful. 

The  John  Brown  raid  took  place  in  1859  ;  the  State  called 
her  convention  in  1860.  In  the  year  last  named  the  war- 
spirit  was  rampant  on  the  Eastern  shore.  Ten  infantry  and 
two  cavalry  companies  were  formed  on  its  peninsula.  Of  one 
of  the  latter,  Claude  W^alsingham  was  elected  captain.  As 
the  war  fever  rose  higher  and  higher  and  the  contest  had 
begun  be3^ond  recall,  martial  law  was  declared  and  men  and 
property  made  tributary  to  demands  of  the  military  author- 
ity. Considered  as  an  enemy,  the  property  of  Mr.  IVIason  was 
seized,  until  scarcely  enough  was  left  for  him  to  subsist  on. 
His  horses,  cattle,  grain  and  fodder  Avere  confiscated  without 
mercy.  His  pleasant  farm,  called  Whitemarsh,  was  stript 
of  every  thing.  Starvation  stared  his  family  in  the  face; 
diphtheria  broke  out  in  his  household,  and  all  were  stricken 
down  except  himself  and  wife  and  Mary  Burton.  Improper 
food  and  lack  of  proper  nursing  swept  them  all  off;  save  a 


TOM  sunToiT,  43 

little  l)oy  six  years  old.  Three  were  buried  in  one  day  by 
the  afflicted  father  and  an  old  negro  man.  To  make  it  more 
unpleasant,  his  premises  were  under  constant  espionage,  and 
one  night,  a  negro,  being  intercepted  in  the  act  of  taking  him 
some  little  article  of  food,  he  was  arrested  upon  the  charge 
of  receiving  stolen  goods  and  lodged  in  the  county  jail.  Mrs. 
Mason,  now  doubly  bereaved,  became  herself  almost  a  help- 
less invalid.  This  placed  a  heavy  responsibility  upon  the 
shoulders  of  Mary,  who  was  left,  with  the  aid  of  an  old  negro 
woman,  sole  manager  and  provider  for  the  little  household. 

In  this  onerous  position  she  lived  without  help  and  with- 
out sympathy.  Her  lady  friends  had  long  since  forsaken 
her.  "^ Claude  Walsingham  sometimes  came  within  sight  of 
the  house,  but  it  was  only  to  forage  in  the  fields  or  the  barn- 
yard. 

Once  he  did  write  her  a  note,  saying  he  was  sorry  that 
events  had  transpired  which  made  it  impossible  for  him  to 
maintain  the  intimacy  which  had  been  so  pleasantly  begun. 
That  by  and  by,  after  the  present  state  of  things  passed  by, 
it  might  be  different.  That  he  was  not  insensible  to  the  fact 
that  she  had  saved  his  life,  and  that  he  should  remember  her 
with  the  deepest  feelings  of  gratitude  as  long  as  he  lived. 
And  but  for  her  associations  the  ties  of  their  friendship 
should  never  have  been  broken.  As  it  was  he  could  neither 
visit  her  nor  be  seen  in  her  company.  It  Avould  compromise 
him  not  only  socially — for  that  matter  he  did  not  care  what 
people  said — but  cause  him  to  be  unjustly  suspected  by  his 
superiors  in  the  army.  He  regretted  that  a  gulf  so  wide 
should  lie  between  two  people  whose  lives,  outside  of  politics 
and  religion,  might  have  found,  in  a  closer  union  than  that  of 
friendship  the  only  true  road  to  happiness.  So  he  spoke  in 
his  note.  To  many  girls  placed  in  Mary's  situation  such 
words  would  have  been  regarded  as  insulting,  or  as  uttered 
in  tones  of  evident  mockery.  But  not  so  with  her.  She 
found  an  excuse  for  his  conduct  in  his  argument.  It  could 
not  be  expected  that  he  should  associate  with  the  family  of 
George  Mason.  She  would  not  even  so  disgrace  him  if  she 
had  the  power.  "It  was  utterly  wrong  in  me,  the  daughter 
of  a  despised  emancipationist,  to  ever  entertain  the  idea  of 
having  a  friend  in  Claude  Walsingham,"  and  saying  this, 
she  laid  the  note  down  and  was  silent. 

There  was  enough  in  her  daily  duties  to  engage  her  atten- 
tion, and  she  tried  to  think  no  more  of  Claude  or  the  future. 

It  came  to  be  the  summer  of  1861,  and  there  was  no  longer 
any  hope  for  peace  until  one  side  or  the  other  of  the  combat- 


U  Tom  ^TTiiToir. 

ants  was  conquered.  As  the  autumn  approached  dangers 
thick  and  fast  began  to  assail  the  sea-girt  peninsula.  Between 
the  Federal  gunboats — which  found  an  easy  ingress  to  almost 
any  part  of  the  two  counties,  by  steaming  up  the  many 
navigable  creeks  in  both  sea  and  bay  coast — and  the  army 
of  Brigadier  General  Lockwood  in  Maryland,  there  was  no 
rest  for  the  little  army  of  native  troops.  Invasions  were  not 
only  hourly  expected,  but  of  daily  occurrence,  and  to  guard  a 
coast-line  so  extensive  was  impossible  with  so  small  a  force. 

October  came  in  all  its  mellowness  of  rich  maturit}^,  but  still 
the  handful  of  Confederates  held  out,  and  the  military  statu 
quo  was  preserved  intact  from  the  line  of  Maryland  on  the 
north  to  the  point  of  Northampton  on  the  south. 

At  Mr  Mason's  there  was  no  change,  except  that  the 
health  of  his  wife  had  slightly  improved,  and,  with  the  hus- 
band in  jail  and  the  troops  having  been  removed  to  a  point 
near  the  border,  there  was  comparative  quiet  at  White- 
marsh. 

Mary  was  the  woman  of  all  work,  inside  and  out,  and  one 
evening,  just  after  sunset,  took  the  little  George  and  went 
down  through  the  field  to  the  thicket  fence  to  feed  some  pigs, 
which,  by  some  lucky  chance,  had  not  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  the  soldiers  or  been  stolen  by  the  negroes. 

"  We  are  not  so  badlj"  off,  after  all,"  she  said  to  herself,  as 
she  wended  her  way  with  a  basket  of  shelled  corn  on  one  arm, 
and  the  little  boy  toddling  on  the  other  side.  "  Men  may 
fight,  but  the  world  of  nature  is  as  peaceful  and  as  soul- 
sustaining  as  ever."  And  so  she  came  to  the  fence  at  the 
back  of  the  farm,  down  through  the  cornfield  she  passed, 
the  corn  all  ungarnered  and  trampled  down  and  overridden 
by  army  wagons  and  cavalry  horses.  The  western  sky  was 
aglow  with  day's  departing  splendors,  and  the  shadows  were 
creeping  silently  through  the  woods.  As  they  reached  the 
wood's  gate,  a  squirrel  late  returning  to  his  nest  ran  by 
chattering  as  he  went,  his  long  bushy  tail  and  cunning  looks 
affording  much  diversion  to  the  little  boy.  On  the  outside 
of  the  gate  was  the  pig-pen,  and  through  an  opening  between 
the  logs  of  this,  the  shoats,  six  in  number,  crept  to  receive  the 
corn  which  Mary  cast  into  it,  the  mother  receiving  her  por- 
tion on  the  outside. 

The  little  boy  had  climbed  up  in  the  pen  and  was  intently 
engaged  in  looking  at  them  crack  the  yellow  gram,  and  Mary 
was  standing  on  the  opposite  side,  apparently  as  much 
amused,  when,  suddenly,  from  the  depths  of  the  dark  forest 
a  man  was  seen  approaching.     His  step  was  cautious  and  hi* 


TOM  BURTON.  45 

manner  circumspect.  He  was  attired  in  a  long  dark-colored 
overcoat,  wore  a  soldier's  cap  and  the  heavy  boots  and  spurs  of 
a  horseman.  The  child  had  seen  and  heard  enough  of  soldiers 
to  be  frightened  at  any  stranger,  and  dropping  himself  to  the 
ground  he  ran  around  to  the  other  side  of  the  pen  and 
clutclied  his  older  cousin  b}^  the  hand,  beginning  to  cry. 

Mary  was  frightened  and  would  have  made  her  escape,  but 
it  was  not  possible,  the  man  was  too  near,  and  to  fly  with  the 
weight  of  the  child  in  her  arms  was  folly,  should  the  stranger 
happen  to  have  any  evil  designs  toward  her.  The  intruder 
came  up  to  within  saluting  distance  and  halted.  Mary 
now  saw  that  he  wore  his  beard  long,  and  the  visor  of  his  cap 
pulled  well.down  over  his  face  ;  but  for  all  that,  there  was  an 
expression  of  friendliness  in  his  features  which  went  far  to 
reassure  her. 

"You  do  not  seem  to  know  me,"  he  said,  smiling  faintly. 
'•  But  I  know  3^ou,  and  you  need  not  be  afraid.  I  do  not  in- 
tend to  harm  you  or  the  child." 

There  was  a  strange  familiarity  in  the  voice  that  awakened 
in  the  girl  a  premonition  of  some  great  surprise,  but  jump  to 
a  correct  conclusion  as  to  from  what  quarter  it  was  coming, 
she  could  not,  for  her  life. 

Then  the  stranger  came  nearer,  and  in  sadder  tones   said : 

"  You  ought  to  know  me,  Mary ;  I  am  your  brother,  Tom 
Burton." 

Child,  every  thing,  for  the  moment,  was  forgotten,  as  she 
fell  into  his  arms  and  sobbed  and  wept  her  very  soul  out  for 
joy. 

"  And  mother,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Is  dead,  Tom.  Sorrow  for  you  and  trouble  over  other 
things  killed  her." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  understand  it  all.  I  feared  they  would  kill 
you  too,  Mary,  and  I  have  risked  everything  to  see  you." 

"  I  am  so  glad  j'ou  have  come  home,  brother,  but  why  are 
you  dressed  in  soldiers  clothes  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  a  soldier  for  several  years,  Mary.  I  enlisted 
as  a  private  before  the  War,  I  am  a  colonel,  now." 

"  In  what  army  ?  "  inquired  the  girl  with  a  look  of  anxietj 
in  her  face. 

"  In  what  army  do  you  suppose,  girl  ?  "  and  opening  his 
overcoat,  he  displayed  an  officer's  uniform  on  which  were  the 
trimmings  of  the  United  States  army. 

Mary  staggered  back  in  painful  astonishment,  exclaim- 
ing: 

"  I  am  so  sorry,  so  sorry  ! " 


46  Tom  nuRTo:^. 

Colonel  Tom  Burton  laughed  outright.  "  And  what  is 
your  objection,  sister,  to  this  uniform  ? 

"  Oh  brother,  we  have  suffered  so  much  !  "  was  all  she  could 
say. 

"  Come,  come,  let  us  journej^  toward  the  house.  We  can 
talk  as  we  go,"  and  saying  this  he  took  the  child  in  his  arms 
and  they  went  through  the  gate  into  the  field. 

"  I  did  not  want  to  see  3'ou  a  soldier,  any  way.  I  was  in 
hopes  you  had  come  home  to  stay  with  us.  Besides,  they  will 
kill  3'ou  now.  I  am  so  sorry.  But  you  have  grown  heavier, 
Tom,  and  I  know  you  don't  drink  now,"  she  said  as  she 
watched  his  firm  step  and  steady  gait. 

"  No,  Mary,  I  am  a  man  at  last ;  and  only  live  to  see  our 
family  righted." 

"  But,  my  dear  brother,  you  can  never  gain  jour  point  in 
that  uniform.  You  will  only  bring  upon  us  still  deeper 
ignominy  and  shame." 

"  Think  not  so,  my  darling.  In  this  same  dress  I  shall 
triumph  over  our  foes  and  vindicate  the  name  of  our 
family." 

Mary  was  still  in  doubt  and  darkness  so  far  as  being  able 
to  coincide  with  her  brother's  views.  It  was  in  vain  he  tried 
to  convince  her  he  was  on  the  right  side.  A  thousand  times 
had  she  rather  seen  him  a  Confederate  private  than  a  Union 
colonel. 

"What  can  you  hope  to  gain  by  being  a  Union  soldier? 
Even  should  the  Federal  Government  succeed  in  putting 
down  the  rebellion,  these  people  who  hate  us  will  never  look 
upon  us  again  with  favor,  and  having  a  new  excuse,  we  shall 
suffer  over  again  what  we  have  alread}^  experienced  even  to 
a  much  more  grievous  extent.  You  will  never  be  able  to  live 
at  home,  and  feeling  their  unmerciful  ostracism  in  your  sensi- 
tive heart,  you  will  go  back  again  to  the  bad." 

"  Never  fear,  my  good  sister,  I  am  safe  now.  I  am  pro- 
tected by  a  power  superior  to  all  their  devilish  machinations. 
They  may  kill  me  in  batlle,  but  can  never  touch  my  honor. 
Living  or  dying  I  shall  hereafter  be  respected,  because  the 
life  I  lead  shall  merit  it,  and  the  sword  I  wear  shall  enforce 
it.  I  have  at  last  got  my  enemies  and  j^ours  where  I  can 
push  them  to  the  wall,  and  reap  my  sweet  revenge." 

They  reached  the  house.  Mr3  Mason  was  rejoiced  to  see 
her  nephew. 

"  But,  Aunt  Mollie,  he  is  in  the  Union  army  ! " 

"  And  just  where  he  ought  to  be,  child,"  replied  the  old 
woman,     "How  it  would  rejoice  George's  heart  to  see  him/' 


TOM  BURTON.  47 

"And  you  say  they've  got  uncle  in  the  jail  ?  Best  as- 
sured, dear  aunt,  they  will  not  keep  him  there  long.  You  will 
soon  have  him  restored  to  you  again,  never  to  be  separated 
until  death.  Just  over  the  line  of  the  county  we  have  five 
thousand  troops,  and  in  a  few  days  shall  he  down  here  and 
set  things  to  rights  once  for  all." 

"But,  my  brother,  when  it's  all  over,  what  then  ?" 

"Then,  my  sister,  will  those  who  have  persecuted  us  be 
dead  or  silent." 

"  Alas  !  I  fear  it  will  never  be  in  your  day  or  mine,"  said 
Mary,  sighing. 

"  Do  you  think  there  will  be  a  battle  ?  "  she  inquires  as 
they  sat  at  the  supper  table. 

"  That  depends.  General  Dix  has  issued  a  proclamation 
calling  upon  the  people  to  lay  down  their  arms  and  return  to 
their  allegiance.  We  are  now  only  waiting  to  see  what  they 
will  do.  If  they  attempt  to  fight  us  the  whole  country  will 
perish." 

Mary  shuddered  at  the  thought,  and  Claude  was  foremost 
in  her  mind.  "  But  are  you  not  afraid  they  may  find  you 
here?     Oh,  if  they  did "— 

The  thought  of  her  brother's  danger  had  not  occurred  to 
her  before,  and  the  pallor  of  her  face  testified  to  her  anxiety. 
Ko  one  knew  the  temper  of  the  Confederate  troops  in  regard 
to  their  watchfulness  and  hatred  of  even  those  who  sym- 
pathized with  the  Union  cause  better  than  the  two  lone  women 
at  Whitemarsh,  and  fearing  death  or  some  worse  fate  if  the 
young  officer  should  be  discovered  and  captured  there,  they 
both  began  to  be  alarmed.  In  any  event  there  would  be  no 
mercy  shown  to  him. 

"  I  know  I  risk  a  great  deal ;  but,  being  so  near  you,  I  could 
not  resist  the  desire  to  see  you  both  and  know  what  was 
going  on.  I  will  remain  w4th  you  only  a  part  of  the  night, 
taking  a  short  nap,  and  before  daylight  start  on  my  way  back, 
my  horse  is  tied  up  in  the  woods  behind  the  field  gate, 
and  I  know  the  roads  perfectly  well." 

Mary  was  rejoiced  to  see  her  brother ;  but  she  could  not 
become  reconciled  to  his  being  a  Union  soldier. 

Neither  was  there  solace  nor  satisfaction  in  the  idea  that 
the  country  would  soon  be  in  the  hands  of  the  Federals. 
Having  no  spite  to  vent  or  revenge  to  satisfy  she  had  no  use 
for  the  means  to  accomplish  these  ends.  She  bore  no  malice 
against  any  one  ;  and  if  left  to  her  choice  would  rather  live 
in  obscurit}',  and  even  bondage,  with  the  Confederates, 
than  be  free  under  Union   rule.     Of  course,  she  would  have 


48  TOM  BURTOX. 

her  uncle  released  and  returned  to  his  home  and  family; 
but  there  was  something  in  the  fall  of  the  rebel  cause  that 
struck  a  sympathetic  chord  in  her  heart,  and  made  her  almost 
wish  for  their  success. 

As  she  saw  her  brother  to  bed  that  night  and  kissed  him 
tenderly,  she  could  not  refrain  from  whispering  : 

"  Tom,  if  Uncle  Mason  were  safe  at  home  and  you  were  in 
the  other  army,  I  would  rejoice  in  my  heart  if  the  Yankee 
army  remained  at  Snow  Hill  till  doomsday." 

"  You  simple  child,"  he  replied,  "  by  what  strange  in- 
fatuation have  you  become  such  a  rebel.  I  shall  begin  to 
think  3^ou  have  a  lover  on  that  side  if  I  hear  any  more  of 
such  sentiments.  Keep  a  good  watch,  and  should  you  hear  or 
see  anything  call  me  at  once.  I  shall  not  sleep  very  soundl}' 
you  may  depend,  for  danger  lurks  where  rebellion  lingers. 
A  few  more  days  and  I  shall  rest  as  securely  here  under  the 
gegis  of  the  government  of  the  United  States  as  I  did  on 
my  mother's  lap.  But  now,  a  hasty  nap  and  then  away  to 
the  Federal  camp/' 


CHAPTEK  V. 

"  OH,  WHY  CAN  YOU  TWO    NOT  BE    FRIENDS?" 

Women  are  ever  charmed  with  the  pride  and  panoply  of 
war ;  nor  are  they  particular  as  to  its  cause,  or  reasonable  as 
to  the  end  to  be  attained  hj  the  wage  of  battle. 

A  dashing  bandit  maintaining  a  predatory  struggle  with 
some  tj^rannical  power,  or  a  gallant  chief  fighting  for  liberty 
of  conscience  or  freedom  of  native-land,  are  heroes  alike  in 
her  romantic  imagination,  and  she  will  just  as  faithfully 
follow  the  fortunes  of  the  one  as  the  other.  Always  true  and 
constant  in  her  devotions,  and  never  false  to  her  choice  even 
to  the  last. 

No  soldiery  in  ancient  or  modern  times  was  ever  more 
beautifully  and  nobly  sustained  by  the  smile  of  woman  than 
that  of  the  South  in  the  late  war. 

It  might  be  truthfully  said,  that  every  man  who  went  into 
the  field  on  that  side  either  had  his  Penelope  at  home  or  his 
Dulcinea  at  her  father's  castle.  And  just  as  truly  may  it  be 
written  down  to  their  everlasting  credit,  that  no  women  ever 
submitted  with  a  better  grace  to  the  awful  calamity  which 
terminated    their    Odyssey,  and  sent   back     their    gallant 


TOM  BunToir.  49 

knights,  stript  of  the  regalia  of  war,  and  clothed  in  tattered 
rags — no  more  to  ride  resplendent  in  the  front  of  battle,  but 
to  drudge  to  life's  long  and  weary  end  abjectly  by  their 
sides. 

The  camp  of  the  Confederates  was  pitched  a  few  miles 
below  the  JMarjdand  border,  some  twenty  miles  above  the 
Court-house  of  Accomack.  Here,  on  the  same  evening  that 
Colonel  Tom  Burton  appeared  so  suddenly  at  Whitemarsh, 
was  held  a  grand  military  ball.  The  elite  of  the  two  counties 
was  gathered  there  on  that  occasion  to  do  honor  to  those  who 
were  about  to  lay  down  their  lives  upon  the  altar  of  their 
countrj',  for  it  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  rank  and  file  of 
that  little  army  went  up  there  to  fight.  They  were  few  in 
numbers,  poorly  equipped,  many  of  them  having  neither 
arms  nor  ammunition.  "  But  had  not  our  fathers  so  fought  in 
the  great  revolution  ?  God  fought  for  them,  and  will  fight  for 
us."  Thus  they  talked,  their  own  beloved  Wise,  always 
eloquent,  had  told  them  to  take  the  Constitution  in  one  hand 
and  the  flag  in  the  other,  and  with  scythe  blades,  if  they  could 
procure  nothing  better,  meet  the  foe,  "  eye  to  eye  and  toe  to 
toe,  and  clash  the  steel." 

They  took  their  crude  arms  and  went;  but  alas  !  they  left 
the  Constitution  and  the  flag  behind.     The  ball  came  off. 

It  was  not  exactly  the  eve  of  battle,  as  it  was  in  Belgium's 
capital  the  night  before  the  great  Waterloo,  but,  in  this  in- 
stance, "  there  was  a  sound  of  revelry  by  night,"  and  there 
were  "  fair  women  and  brave  men,'-  and  "  soft  eyes  looked 
love  to  eyes  which  spake  again,"  and  all  such  as  that.  The 
Philadelphia  school-teacher  was  there  with  another  class  of 
girls,  and  scores  of  the  fair  alumnse  of  her  celebrated 
institute. 

She  herself ^  was  frisk  and  gay,  still  on  the  hunt  for  a  hus- 
band, and  vieing  with  the  most  engaging  of  her  old  pupils  in 
all  those  artful  ways  a  woman  of  her  experience  and  age 
invariably  calls  to  her  aid,  in  order  to  make  up  for  the  lost 
weight  occasioned  by  absence  of  youthful  freshness. 

^  Captain  Walsingham  of  the  Confederate'  cavalry  found 
himself  bored  to  the  quick  by  what  he  was  pleased  to  term 
her  "  infernal  blase,''  manners  and  "  eternal  clatter,"  both 
ideas  being  in  his  mind  inseparably  connected  with  all  North- 
ern women. 

Miss  Savage  was  there,  phlegmatic  as  ever,  and  moving 
through  the  mazy  waltz  with  an  effort  which  brought  into 
requisition  all  the  resources  of  heart  and  lungs. 

Put  of  all  the  3^oung  ladies  of  marriageable  age  (and  that 


50  TOM  BURTON. 

period  comes  early  in  a  young  girl's  life  in  Virginia),  who 
were  present  that  night,  Miss  Kate  Moore  was  decidedly 
the  first  both  in  point  of  beauty,  elegance  of  dress,  and  pros- 
pects of  future  wealth.  She  was  the  only  daughter  of  one  of 
the  largest  land  and  slave  owners  in  the  State.  It  was  hinted 
by  the  knowing  ones  that  his  estate  was  heavily  mortgaged; 
but  his  roll  of  slaves  was  counted  by  hundreds,  and  it  was 
easy  to  turn  those  into  hard  cash,  some  of  them  being  sacri- 
ficed every  year  to  meet  current  expenses  and  pay  poker 
debts.  But  the  natural  increase  was  equal  to  the  current 
demand,  and  the  women  being  good  breeders,  with  about  the 
same  arrangements  and  care  for  the  propagation  of  the  young 
negroes  as  was  exercised  in  the  barn-yard  for  the  raising  of 
stock  and  for  the  same  purpose. 

Miss  Kate  was  not  only  rich  and  handsome,  but  she 
was  intelligent,  sprightly,  and  captivating — a  young  lad}',  in  a 
word,  to  be  sought  after  b}^  all  the  aristocratic  young  gentle- 
man of  the  peninsula  ;  and  so  she  was. 

In  this  race  Captain  Claude  was  the  choice  of  all  competi- 
tors, and  held  the  fort  of  the  young  lady's  affections  against 
all  other  assailants. 

He  chaperoned  her  at  the  ball  and  was  so  assiduous  in  his 
attentions  that  all  the  rest  of  her  suitors  retired  from  the 
field  in  disgust. 

The  poet  Campbell  was  truly  j^rophetic  when  he  said  that, 
*' Coming  events  cast  their  shadows  before." 

Instinctively  we  feel  the  approaches  of  great  transmuta- 
tions. The  two  young  lovers  had  that  feeling  at  the  military 
ball  that  night;  and  impressed  with  the  idea  that  their 
time  was  growing  short,  they  made  up  their  minds  to  make 
the  most  of  the  present  opportunity. 

By  the  hour  of  ten,  these  two  individuals  had  ceased  to 
mingle  in  the  dance,  and  had  appropriated  to  their  own 
proper  use  and  behoof  the  little  latticed  porch  which  opened 
out  upon  the  garden,  in  the  rear  of  the  old  mansion  where  the 
ball  was  being  held. 

The  season  was  rather  too  far  advanced  to  take  much 
stock  in  spooning  by  moonlight;  but  it  was  one  of  those 
mild  evenings  in  late  October,  that  we  call  Indian  summer,  and 
when  the  fires  of  love  are  burning  in  the  heart,  young  people 
don't  mind  the  cold.  On  this  occasion  was  arranged  the 
serious  matter  which  in  the  first  chapter  of  this  book  made 
trouble  along  the  bay  shore,  when  a  certain  young  captain 
took  a  long  farewell  of  his  bride  elect  9in(J  went  off  to  the  wars 
to  fight  for  her,  and  their  country. 


TOM  BURTON.  51 

Whether  prompted  by  true  love  or  convenience  or  mere 
fashion,  let  no  man  judge.  It  is  sufficient  for  our  purpose 
to  say  that  Claude  Walsingham  and  Kate  Moore  did  then 
and  there  plight  their  troth,  swearing  by  moon  and  stars,  and 
everything  else  high  and  holy,  to  love  and  cherish  each  other, 
so  long  as  they  both  should  live. 

But  even  while  they  lingered  an  orderly  intruded  upon  the 
privacy  of  their  little  trysting-place,  handing  Claude  a 
dispatch. 

Excusing  himself,  he  took  the  unwelcome  missive  into  the 
house  to  a  lamp  and  read  : 

"A  Yankee  spy,  thought  to  be  Tom  Burton  the  Abolitionist, 
has  been  seen  in  the  neighborhood  of  AVhitemarsh.  You 
will  take  a  detachment  of  your  company  and,  if  possible, 
capture  him,  dead  or  alive." 

To  Captain  Claude  Walsingham. 

Commanding  Company  A. 

39  Keg.  Va.  Vol. 

By  order  of  Chas.  Stith. 
Colonel  Commanding  Confederate  forces. 

How  inopportune !  Was  it  an  omen  or  a  simple  coinci- 
dence ?  A  day  might  not  pass  before  a  battle,  and  yet  he  was 
not  permitted  to  spend  just  this  one  evening  with  his  sweet- 
heart. But  as  in  the  story  of  Paul  and  Virginia,  it  was  the 
old  man's  voice  warning  them  to  separate — a  voice  that  was 
often  heard  in  those  days,  and  in  many  cases  only  a  substitute 
for  the  more  solemn  summons  of  the  old  rattling,  rol- 
licking man  of  bones  with  his  ghastl}^  smile  and  glistening 
sickle.  As  anxious  to  distinguish  himself  in  his  profession 
as  to  distance  his  rivals  in  the  more  bloodless  campaign  of 
courtship,  Captain  Claude  bade  Miss  Moore  a  hasty  good- 
night, telling  her  that  important  business  called  him  away 
from  her  dear  side  and  the  joyous  festivities  of  the  hour,  and 
drove  to  his  head-quarters,  where,  selecting  eight  of  his  best 
men,  he  set  off  in  a  swinging  gallop  in  the  direction  of  White- 
marsh. 

It  was  after  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  when,  with  foaming 
steeds,  the  detachment  reached  the  house  where  the  bold  spy 
M\is  locked  in  the  embraces  of  Morpheus,  as  securely  as  was 
Sampson  when  the  treacherous  Delilah  delivered  him  over 
to  the  Philistines  to  be  shorn  of  his  puissant  locks.  Fast  as 
the  chief  of  the  little  band  had  ridden,  his  thoughts  had  run 
faster  still  of  Mary  and  all  her  kindness  and  all  her  suffering, 
and  although  he  hated  Tom  Burton  more  than  he  did  any 


52  TOM  BUBTON. 

other  living  man,  lie  resolved  to  spare  him  if  he  could  for  his 
sister's  sake. 

So  he  did  not  allow  his  men  to  enter  the  gate,  but  halted 
them  on  the  outside  while  he  rode  up  alone  to  the  house. 
First,  going  to  the  kitchen,  he  waked  up  the  negress, 
who  reluctantly  admitted  him ;  standing  before  the  hearth 
on  which  blazed  a  lightwood  knot,  he  took  out  his  pencil  and 
wrote  on  a  small  piece  of  blank  paper  : 

"  If  Mr.  Tom  Burton  is  in  the  house  and  will  permit  me  to 
see  him,  I  can  save  his  life  ;  otherwise  I  must  not  be  held 
responsible  or  blamed  if  anything  of  a  serious  nature  should 
happen  to  him. 

"  Claude  Walsixgham." 

"  Here,"  he  said,  handing  the  note  to  the  old  woman,  ^'  take 
this  into  the  house  quietly,  give  it  to  your  Miss  Mary  and 
say  the  gentleman  is  waiting  for  an  answer.     Do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sah  !  '^ 

"Then  get  along  quick  or  I'll  cut  your  head  off.  But  be 
sure  to  make  no  noise." 

The  old  woman  made  no  delay,  Mary  was  easily  awakened. 
In  fact  it  is  doubtful  if  she  had  slept  at  all.  The  instant  the 
old  servant  called  she  knew  her  fears  "had  boded  all  too 
true."  Her  first  thought  was,  "my  brother  is  surprised  and 
lost."  She  snatched  the  note  hastily,  and  read  it,  tears  already 
in  her  e\^es. 

By  this  time  Colonel  Burton  himself  was  downstairs  and 
at  her  side.  She  handed  him  the  note,  trembling  from  head 
to  foot. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed  my  sister.  Go  put  on  a  dress  as  quick 
as  possible.     We  may  need  you." 

Mary  obeyed  mechanically. 

The  Union  officer  took  his  pencil  and  wrote  on  the  back 
of  Claude's  missive." 

"  Mr.  Thomas  Burton  is  not  here ;  but  Colonel  Thomas 
Burton  is,  and  at  your  service." 

Passing  the  scrap  of  paper  to  the  old  woman  he  bade  her 
take  it  back  to  the  waiting  gentleman. 

In  a  minute  Claude  knocked  at  the  door,  and  Colonel 
Burton  told  him  to  walk  in.  The  latter  had  examined  his 
pistols  and  laid  them  on  a  table  at  his  side. 

"Ah,  I  see  you  are  prepared  for  emergency,"  exclaimed 
the  Confederate,  as  he  entered  the  room. 

"  It  is  only  a  precaution,  sir,  my  profession  teaches  me. 
But,  since  you  seem  to  be  on  a  peaceful  mission,  I   shall  re- 


place  my  weapons,  and  meet  you  without  suspicion  or 
reserve." 

"  Then,  I  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Colonel  Tom  Bur- 
ton ? "       ■ 

'•You  have,  sir;  and  it  has  been  many  days  since  we  saw 
each  other  last." 

"  It  has  ;  our  meeting  then  was  under  different  circum^ 
stances." 

"  So  it  was,  Captain  Walsingham  ;  and '' 

"  And  I  told  you  then,  if  you  remember,  what  your  Aboli- 
tion friends  would  bring  us  to,"  interrupted  Claude.  He 
went  on  :  "  I  should  think  the  condition  in  which  you  find 
your  poor  sister  and  her  friends  would  touch  your  heart,  and 
cause  you  to  realize  in  some  degree  the  ruin  your  false  teach- 
ing has  already  wrought." 

As  he  talked  Colonel  Burton  sat  quietly  regarding  his 
old  adversary  with  a  look  of  half  contempt  and  half  anger. 
As  Claude  finished  his  last  remarks,  Mary  entered  the  room. 
Her  features  betrayed  the  alarm  she  felt,  but  her  soft  dark 
eyes  were  full  of  pleading. 

"  So  you  blame  me  for  it  all,  do  you,  Claude  Walsingham? 
Let  me  put  a  plain  question  to  you." 

"  Speak  on,  sir." 

"  Have  you  nothing  to  reproach  yourself  for  ?  Is  it  you 
or  I,  who  has  visited  upon  the  gentle  and  unoffending  per- 
son you  named,  and  many  others  like  her,  all  these  troubles 
you  refer  to  ?  Who  but  you  and  your  infamous  clique  has 
done  it  ?  It  is  like  jouv  persecution  of  innocent  preachers. 
Little  wonder  is  there,  however,  that  men  who  can  fight  for 
slavery  can  feel  any  compunction  of  conscience  for  the  op- 
pressed. Shame,  shame  on  you,  Claude  Walsingham,  to  be 
so  near  these  helpless  women  and  see  them  treated  thus,  and 
never  give  them  a  helping  hand." 

The  old  Burton  blood  was  thoroughly  aroused.  Colonel 
Tom's  eyes  flashed  like  meteors. 

"  Do  not  tempt  me,  sir ;  your  words  are  hot  and  insulting 
for  a  prisoner,  and  you  may  be  sure  I  would  not  stand  and 
take  them  were  you  not  in  my  power.  You  must  not  pre- 
sume too  much  upon  the  presence  of  your  sister  and  my 
friendship  for  her." 

"Friendship!"  repeated  Colonel  Burton,  with  a  sneer  of 
derision. 

"  Remember,  Tom  Burton,  you  are  my  prisoner  and  your 
liberty,  ay,  sir,  your  life,  is  at  my  option.  This  house  is  sur- 
rounded by  a  detachment  of  my  company,  and  at  a  moment's 
warning  your  fate  is  sealed." 


54  TOM  BUBTON. 

"  Ha,  ha,"  laughed  the  Union  officer.  "You  doughty  Con- 
federates cannot  stand  the  onslaught  of  truth  quite  as  well 
as  you  can  the  smell  of  gunpowder.  You  are  brave,  I  know, 
in  one  sense — cowards  in  another." 

Claude  grasped  his  pistol. 

"Nobody  but  a  man  in  your  situation  could  talk  to  me 
thus,  and  in  that  hated  uniform,  which  in  your  case  clothes 
a  worthless  renegade." 

Mary  was  already  standing  between  them.  "  Who  shoots 
first,  slays  me,"  she  said.     Claude  continued: 

"This  parleying  with  a  prisoner  is  unparalleled  in  the 
annals  of  warfare.     1  have  already  been  too  lenient." 

"  Claude  Walsingham,"  replied  the  other,  more  calmly  than 
he  even  thought  he  could  speak,  "I  am  here  at  your  service. 
You  ma}'^  proceed  with  me  as  you  see  fit.  If  I  was  born  to 
be  killed  in  this  wretched  and  fratricidal  war,  I  can  die  in 
no  better  place  than  among  the  only  friends  I  have  on  earth, 
and  by  no  better  hands  that  I  know  of." 

"  Please,  gentlemen,  do  not  talk  in  this  way.  I  had  rather 
die  myself  than  see  j'ou  two  forever  enemies.  You  are  both 
Virginians,  both  brave  men,  both  white  men.  Why  cannot 
you  two  be  friends  ?  " 

"Because,"  said  Claude,  "your  brother  is  an  Abolitionist 
and  a  renegade." 

"Because,"  replied  Colonel  Burton,  ^' jowx friend  is  a 
Bourbon  and  a  rebel." 

They  both  moved  toward  each  other.  Mary  held  up  her 
hands  in  pitiable  attitude. 

"Whatever  you  may  be  to  me  Miss  BLirton,  you  ought  to 
remember  one  thing,  and  that  is,  no  man  who  wears  that 
uniform  can  beard  me  thus." 

"  Ha,  ha,"  laughed  Burt(m,  again  growing  cooler ;  "you  shall 
see  the  day  you  will  respect  it,  and  on  my  body  too.  If  you 
are  as  brave  as  Southern  men  generally  are,  and  will  have 
your  troop  show  me  fair  play  you  shall  not  be  in  waiting 
long  for  that  time  to  arrive." 

"  Brother  !  Captain  Walsingham !  if  you  have  any  respect 
or  love  for  me,  if  either  of  you  cherishes  one  pleasant  memory 
of  the  past  or  my  former  solicitude  for  the  well-being  of  both 
of  you,  spare  each  other — spare  my  brother.  Captain  Walsing- 
ham." The  pleading  eloquence  of  the  beautiful  girl  touched 
them  both. 

"  It  was  my  purpose,  Miss  Burton,  as  Heaven  is  niy  wit- 
ness, to  do  so  ;  but — " 

"  Then  come  this  way — Tom — come  with  me, — ^leave,  fly — " 


TOM  BURTON.  oij 

"Fly,  sister  ?  You  know  not  what  you  say  "  exclaimed  the 
Federal  colonel,  indignantly. 

"But,  brother,  that  cannot  compromise  your  bravery. 
Come,  for  God's  sake  !  '^ 

"She  says  rightly,'' added  Walsingham.  '' To  obey  her  is 
not  cowardice.  Mark  me,  I  go  for  my  men.  They  are  at  the 
gate.  I  shall  submit  to  no  more  temporizing.  If  you  re- 
main in  this  house  until  I  return  I  shall  arrest  you  as  a 
spy,  and  you  will  die  an  ignominious  death  as  you  desire. 
For  your  sister's  sake,  I  offer  you  this  one  more  chance ;  " 
and  without  another  word  he  bowed  to  Mary  and  walked  out 
of  the  room. 

"Now,  brother — darling  Tom,  now  is  your  time.  Fly, 
fly  for  your  poor  sister's  sake  !  Come  this  way."  She  forced 
him  toward  the  door.     He  halted  moodily. 

"  It  is  dishonorable.     I  will  not  run,"  he  said  doggedly. 

"]^ot  for  my  sake,  Tom  ?  Look  at  me,  think  how  long  I 
have  suffered — see  how  I  am  dying  for  you — " 

"  Yes,  that  is  why  I  crave  vengeance." 

"But  you  cannot  get  it  here.  Live,  live,  Tom,  to  seek  it  in 
some  way  when  your  sister's  life  will  not  pay  the  forfeit. 
Oh,  I  hear  their  horses'  hoofs.  My  God,  they  are  in  the  yard. 
Oh,  Tom,  have  you  no  love  forme  ?  Has  your  country  no  fur- 
ther use  for  your  service?  See  our  dear  mother  from  Heaven — " 

At  the  mention  of  his  mother's  name  Burton  started  as 
if  shot.  His  countenance  changed.  He  stared  deep  down 
into  the  depths  of  her  dark  eyes,  limpid  with  tears,  as  if  he 
saw  the  sacred  face  of  the  dead  one  there. 

Mary  had  finished  her  entreaties,  and  was  sinking  to  the 
floor.  The  soldiers  were  in  front  of  the  house.  Imprinting 
an  impassioned  kiss  on  the  almost  inanimate  lips  of  the  girl, 
he  seized  his  pistols,  one  in  each  hand,  and  leaped  out  into 
the  back  y-ard. 

A  dozen  shots  went  whizzing  after  him.  Two  were  re- 
turned, and  as  many  men  reeled  out  of  their  saddles. 

"Damnation!"  exclaimed  Captain  Walsingham,  "'he  has 
killed  two  of  my  men.  Pursue  him  ! — head  him  off!  Show 
him  no  quarter  ! — take  him  dead  or  alive  !  " 

The  command  was  futile.  Before  the  soldiers  couldrecover 
from  the  shock  occasioned  by  the  fall  of  their  two  comrades, 
throw  down  the  fence  and  enter  the  cornfield  into  which 
the  lucky  Colonel  had  fled,  he  was  out  of  sight  and  his  where- 
abouts uncertain.  Behind  the  shadow  of  the  out-buildings 
he  doubled,  came  back  into  the  yard,  walked  leisurely  out  to 
the  road,  and  turning  into  the  thicket  a  short  distance  below 
the  house,  sought  his  horse  in  the  woods,  reloaded  his  pistols. 


56  TOM  BURTON. 

and  taking  an  untraveled  "by-way  jogged  quietly  on  to  Snow 
Hill,  while  his  infuriated  and  disappointed  assailants  were 
vainly  scouring  the  cornfield,  cursing  the  good  fortune  that 
had  kept  him  out  of  their  clutches. 

Mrs.  Mason  coming  to  Mary's  assistance,  found  her  return- 
ing to  consciousness. 

''  Oh,  is  brother  safe,  dear  Aunty  ?     Tell  me  !  " 

^^  God  grant  he  is.     Did  you  hear  the  firing  and  the  curses  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes  !     Heaven  save  my  dear.  Tom  !  '^ 

"Heaven  will,  my  child." 

"And  Claude—" 


PART    11. 

CHAPTEE    YI. 

THE  XEW  REGIME. 

The  military  venture  of  the  people  of  the  Eastern  Shore 
was  destined  to  end  in  little  bloodshed  and  less  glory. 

Eailing  to  obtain  reinforcements  from  General  Magruder 
at  Yorktown,  assailed  in  front  and  rear  and  flank,  the 
little  heterogeneous  camp  broke  up,  the  greater  part  of  the 
soldiers  throwing  down  their  arms,  and,  accepting  of  General 
Dix's  generous  proclamation,  returning  to  their  homes. 
Some,  among  them  Claude  AYalsingham,  as  we  have  already 
seen  in  the  first  chapter,  escaping  to  the  AYestern  Shore. 

It  was  toward  the  end  of  JSTovember,  1861,  when  down  came 
the  army  of  occupation  with  all  the  pomp  and  eclat  of  an  easy 
victor3^ 

It  came,  like  any  other  arm3',flushed  with  success,  confident, 
bold  and  boisterous,  striking  terror  to  the  hearts  of  non-com- 
batants, foraging  the  countr}^  for  sup2:)lies,  paying  in  promises 
to  be  realized  after  days  of  trouble  in  proving  accounts,  ar* 
resting  all  who  dared  express  sympathy  for  the  cause  of  re- 
bellion, digging  up  buried  Confederate,  flags  even  searching 
for  them  under  the  petticoats  of  recalcitrant  females,  and  com- 
mitting a  thousand  and  one  other  acts  of  annoyance  to  the 
subjugated  people  they  had  come  among.  Many  of  these  had 
friends  and  relatives  on  the  other  side,  and  were  in  almost 
weekly  communication  with  them  by  means  of  blockade  run- 
ning, which  was  carried  on  extensively^  on  account  of  the  large 
profits  it  offered  to  the  hardy  men  engaged  in  it. 


TOM  BURTON.  57 

Many  were  the  families  compromised  hy  this  means,  when- 
ever an  unfortunate  blockader  was  captured ;  and  arrests, 
quickly  following,  kept  the  old  jail  at  the  court-house  full  of 
political  prisoners.  These  difficulties,  of  considerable  moment 
at  first,  became  less  frequent,  under  the  searching  espionage  of 
the  military  authorities,  and  as  the  theatre  of  war  became  re- 
moved farther  away,  almost  ceased  before  the  end  of  the 
struggle. 

The  gory  tide  of  battle  rolled  on,  the  absent  ones  came 
not  back. 

Society  on  the  Eastern  Shore  went  into  winter  quarters,  on 
the  advent  of  the  northern  troops,  not  to  hibernate  for  a  sea- 
son, but  upon  conditions  similar  to  those  upon  which  the 
flower  of  the  community  had  enlisted,  to  wit :  for  three  years 
or  the  war.  As  a  snail  will  draw  itself  up  in  its  shell  and  re- 
fuse to  come  out,  so  the  disgruntled  people  of  the  peninsula 
shut  themselves  up  in  their  houses  and  refused  to  be  com- 
forted because  their  loved  ones  were  not  at  home.  The  doors 
of  the  churches  were  closed,  the  usual  winter  amusements 
neglected. 

Outside  of  the  usual  excitement  about  the  Federal  camp, 
to  which  all  the  negroes  in  the  two  counties  fled  in  hope  of 
gaining  their  freedom,  and  to  offer  their  services  for  camp 
duties,  the  gloom  and  silence  of  the  grave  settled  down  upon 
the  place,  at  least  for  that  winter. 

To  the  mind  of  Mary  Burton,  so  long  harassed  by  doubts 
and  fears,  and  oppressed  by  misfortunes  growing  out  of  the 
position  of  her  family  in  society,  there  came  no  relief  with 
the  advent  of  her  protection.  Like  the  stupefied  prisoner  who 
from  long  imprisonment  had  become  so  accustomed  to  his 
dungeon  that  he  at  last  preferred  it  to  freedom,  so  she  could 
find  no  solace  in  the  new  order  of  things. 

True,  her  uncle  was  released  and  come  home  to  rehabilitate 
his  naked  farm  ;  there  was  joy  at  Whitemarsh,  but  Mary  still 
sat  in  the  darkness  and  shadow  of  death.  How  could  she,  as 
she  was  constituted,  rejoice  in  that  one  single  ray  of  happiness, 
and  all  the  shore  wrapped  in  mourning  ? 

It  was  bad  enough,  truly,  to  be  ostracized  and  deserted, 
but  to  see  other  people  miserable  did  not  relieve  her,  but 
only  added  another  sorrow,  that  of  sympathy  and  commisera- 
tion. 

Of  all  the  arguments  against  eternal  future  punishment 
and  full  knowledge  of  everything  by  those  in  Heaven,  that  is 
the  strongest,  which  by  its  very  absurdity  supposes  no  pang 
for  the  sufferings  of  the  damned  in  Hell. 


58  TOM  BURTON-, 

What  was  life  worth  to  Mary  Burton,  if  all  the  world  else 
was  in  torment  ?  Under  such  circumstances  Paradise  itself 
were  as  bleak  and  barren  as  a  desert  waste,  and  as  cold  and 
cheerless  to  her,  as  though  she  walked  along  the  glittering 
halls  of  some  stupendous  ice  palace,  peopled  with  the  pallid 
and  speechless  ghosts  of  the  dead. 

"Alas  !  Tom,  I  sometimes  feel,  however  strange  it  may  ap- 
pear to  you,  it  had  been  better  if  you  had  remained  up  there 
in  Maryland  and  let  our  own  jjeople  alone.  There  is  such  a 
dearth  of  everything  that  is  compensation  to  the  spirit  of  one 
who  has  always  sought  her  own  happiness  as  I  have  in  the 
reflection  which  flowed  from  that  of  others."  So  she  felt  and 
so  she  talked,  while  her  brother  laughed  at  her  folly,  and 
chided  her  morbid  sentiments ;  all  of  which  did  no  good,  for 
Mary  was,  like  everybody  else,  bereft ;  the  new  order  of 
affairs  not  only  failing  to  give  back  to  her  her  former  friends, 
but  making  them  more  and  more  estranged. 

It  was  a  week  or  so  after  the  occupation  of  the  county  by 
the  Federals,  that  a  buggy  containing  an  old  gentleman  and 
a  young  lady  drove  up  to  the  head-quarters  of  the  command- 
ing general. 

"  You  will  hold  the  mare,  Kate,  while  I  go  and  see  Mm. 
You  will  have  to  watch  her  carefully,  for  you  know  she  does 
not  like  those  blue-coats  any  more  than  3'ou  or  I,"  said  the  old 
gentleman  as  he  scuffled  out  in  front  of  the  gate  that  opened 
into  the  grounds  of  a  magnificent  residence  which  had  been 
confiscated  and  appropriated  for  military  j)urposes,  and  was 
the  head-quarters  above  referred  to. 

"  If  she  hated  them  as  much  as  I  do,  she  would  kick  every 
one  that  comes  within  her  reach,  I'm  sure.  Take  care, 
papa,  and  don't  get  into  any  difficulty." 

"  So,  so,  daughter,  I  shall  do  the  best  I  can  ;  but  I  hav'n't 
got  long  to  live,  anyhow,  and  if  they  kill  me  they'll  be 
doing  me  a  service,  since  they've  taken  all  my  niggers,  and 
most  all  of  my  corn  and  fodder." 

"I  do  declare,  I  get  out  of  all  patience  whenever  I  have  to 
look  at  one  of  them.  Never  mind,  Mr.  Blue  Coats,  our  boys 
will  come  back  from  Dixie  some  of  these  davs,  and  make  you 
skedaddle,  I'll  bet." 

Then,  as  if  ashamed  of  her  own  slang,  she  sat  herself  back 
in  the  corner  of  the  vehicle  and  drew  down  her  veil. 

"  I  do  not  want  one  of  those  hateful  Yankees  to  see  my 
face,"  she  added,  setting  herself  as  far  back  as  she  could 
get. 

By  this  time  the  old  gentleman  had  disappeared  into  the 
house. 


TOM  BURTON.  59 

Possibly  it  was  about  ten  minutes  afterward  that  a  com- 
pany of  soldiers  came  marching  by,  beating  a  drum,  the 
bright  bayonets  of  their  muskets  flashing  in  the  sunlight. 
The  fiery  mare,  unjaded  by  the  long  drive,  pricked  up  her  ears, 
turned  suddenly  around  and  darted  off  at  a  breakneck  speed 
down  the  road.  All  attempts  to  check  her  either  by  the  lady 
or  those  whom  she  passed  on  the  road  proved  unavailing,  as 
the  frightened  beast  flew  like  the  wind  in  the  direction  from 
whence  she  had  come. 

For  a  mile  the  road  stretched  in  a  direct  line  in  a  southerly 
direction,  then  breaking  off  abruptly  toward  the  east  passed 
through  a  thick  wood. 

When  out  of  sight  of  the  village,  and  rushing  with  the 
buggy  through  the  wood  aforesaid  with  the  celerity  of  a  rein- 
deer, the  fair  occupant,  oblivious  to  all  around  her,  she 
having  fallen  into  a  swoon,  a  Federal  officer  returning  from 
a  country  drive  met  the  runaway,  and,  leaping  from  his  saddle 
by  a  masterly  performance,  brought  the  panting  animal  to  a 
standstill. 

Observing  at  a  glance  the  condition  of  the  lady,  and  seeing 
that  much  of  the  harness  was  disarranged  and  broken,  the 
timely  rescuer  slipped  the  filly  from  between  the  shafts,  tied 
her  to  a  sapling,  and  while  his  own  horse  stood  meekly  by 
regarding  the  scene  with  as  much  composure  as  his  master, 
the  latter  turned  his  attention  to  the  lady ;  and  as  she  was 
still  insensible  he  lifted  her  from  her  seat  to  the  ground. 

The  effort  aroused  her,  and  looking  up  into  his  face  with  a 
surprised  and  frightened  manner,  inquired  : 

"  Who  are  you  ?  Where  am  I  ?  "  Then  almost  immediately 
regarding  his  uniform  with  a  glance  of  scorn  that  would  have 
withered  any  one  but  a  soldier,  she  exclaimed  :  "  Let  go  of 
me  !     Please  do  not  touch  me.     I  hate  you !  " 

The  officer  smiled. 

"  You  are  not  a  gentleman,  sir,  to  interfere  with  a  lady  in 
this  way,"  and  her  large  blue  eyes  spoke  volumes  of  indigna- 
tion. 

"  Well,  Miss,  if  it  will  do  you  the  least  particle  of  good  to 
know  it,  I  am  Colonel  Tom  Burton  the  Abolitionist.  Your 
horse  was  running  away.  In  a  little  while  you  would  have 
been  dashed  out  and  killed.  I  took  the  liberty  to  stop  your 
horse  without  waiting  to  ask  myself  if  you  would  thank  me 
or  no.  As  you  seem  to  have  no  further  use  for  me,  I  shall 
remount  my  horse  and  leave  you  to  shift  for  yourself.  But, 
surely,"  he  added  in  a  milder  manner,  "  you  are  unfit  to  be 
left  alone  here  in  the  road  where  there  is  no  assistance  of  any 


60  TOM  burton: 

"  I  must  thank  you  for  your  trouble,  sir,  I  admit,  "but — ^" 

"  You  are  all  of  two  miles  from  the  village,  and  I  would 
suggest  that  3'ou  allow  me  to  place  you  upon  my  horse,  who 
is  gentle  and  will  carry  you  back  safely,  while  I  lead  yours. 
Your  buggy  will  have  to  be  fixed  before  it  can  be  used  again/' 
interrupted  the  colonel. 

The  color  rose  in  the  face  of  the  young  lady  as  the  officer 
was  speaking,  and  when  he  was  silent  she  spoke,  her  words 
coming  out  of  her  mouth  like  shot  heated  for  the  occasion. 

"  That  would  be  a  fine  sight,  wouldn't  it.  The  idea  of  my 
riding  into  Drummondtown  on  a  Yankee  officer's  horse,  I 
should  consider  myself  everlastingly  disgraced,  sir,  especially 
when  that  officer  is  Tom  Burton  the  renegade." 

"You  are  extremely  complimentarj^.  Miss,  I  must  admit. 
I  suppose  you  will  allow  me  to  lead  your  filly  back.  I  hardly 
think  she  will  object." 

Without  replj'ing  the  lady  drew  herself  up  haughtily, 
carelessly  adjusted  her  shawl  and  started  off  up  the  road. 

She  had  not  proceeded  three  paces  before  she  tottered, 
falling  up  against  a  tree  that  stood  by  the  roadside. 

''  You  are  hurt.  Miss,  more  than  you  imagine.  It  is  utter 
folly  for  you  to  spurn  all  help  in  this  manner.  My  proffers 
are  made  on  motives  wholly  unselfish,  and  with  a  desire  to  serve 
you  in  your  dire  extremity.  You  can  certainly  not  gain  any- 
thing by  such  unwarranted,  and,  if  I  must  be  severe,  unlady- 
like conduct." 

The  voice  of  the  Colonel  was  strong  now,  and  almost 
commanding  in  tone.  There  was  something  in  its  deep 
volume  that  caused  her  to  look  up  into  his  face.  She  had 
known  him  by  sight  when  he  was  a  mere  youth,  and  had 
heard  all  sorts  of  stories  about  him,  none  of  them  calculated 
to  inspire  respect  or  confidence,  and  she  expected  to  behold  a 
repulsive  and  ugly  if  not  besotted  countenance. 

She  was  agreeably  surprised.  He  was  not  only  tall  and 
well-proportioned,  but  really  handsome.  His  hair  was 
closely  cut,  showing  the  contour  of  a  shapely  head  behind 
the  band  of  an  ordinary  military  cap,  beneath  the  visor  of 
which  his  dark  eyes  sparkled  with  wit  and  intelligence.  A 
long  black  beard  covered  the  lower  part  of  his  face,  but 
between  it  and  his  silken  mustache  a  set  of  pearly  teeth 
gleamed  when  he  spoke,  in  pleasant  contrast.  He  wore  the 
undress  uniform  '^f  a  colonel  of  infantry.  As  she  regarded 
him  standing  there,  the  impersonation  of  perfect  manhood, 
silua  •^'-iost  regretted  having  been  so  saucy.  She  stood  lean- 
ji^  against  the  tree. 


TOM  BURTON.  Qi 

^^You  must  pardon  me,  Colonel  Burton,  if  I  have  been 
impolite  ;  but  we  do  hate  you  Yankees  so  much,  and  especially- 
one  of  our  own  people  who  has  become  our  enemy,  that  to 
treat  you  otherwise  would  be  to  dissemble.  I  am  sure,  sir, 
if  you  are  a  gentleman,  you  prefer  honest  rudeness  to 
insincere  politeness." 

"I  am  forced  to  admire  your  candor  as  well  as  your  pluck  ; 
but  I  do  not  approve  of  your  discretion.  Xow  it  doesn't 
matter  at  all  to  me  how  rude  you  are,  or  what  you  may  say 
about  me  or  the  cause  I  represent.  I  know  as  well  as  I  know 
that  I  live,  that  the  time  is  coming  when  you  people  will  get 
out  of  all  such  foolishness,  when  the  prejudices  of  the  hour 
shall  have  worn  out ;  when  3'ou  come  to  know  us  better. 
But  it  is  a  matter  of  necessity  that  you  come  to  some  de- 
termination as  to  how  you  will  meet  your  present  difficulty. 
This  is  a  case  in  which  sense  is  worth  more  than  com- 
pliments, be  they  doubtful  or  otherwise.  What  will  you  do  ?  " 
She  reflected  a  moment. 

"  Then,  will  you  please  ride  to  the  village  and  acquaint 
my  father  of  the  accident.  His  name  is  Colonel  Moore. 
You  will  doubtless  meet  him  on  his  way  to  look  for  me  as  he 
must  have  gotten  through  with  his  business  by  this  time  or 
heard  of  my  mishap.  I  left  him  very  unceremoniously  at  the 
gate  of  General  Lockwood's  head-quarters,  where  I  was  wait- 
ing for  him  to  come  out.  Eose  was  afraid  of  your  blue- 
coated  soldiers  and  ran  away." 

"This  then  is  your  ultimatum,  is  it  ?" 
"  It  is,  sir.     I  can  allow  you  to  do  nothing  else  for  me." 
Without    another    word    Colonel    Burton    raised  his    cap, 
bowed  politely,  mounted  his  horse  and  was  off. 

When  Colonel  Tom  Burton  was  out  of  sight,  Kate  jMoore, 
(for  she  it  was),  left  her  position  by  the  tree,  hobbled  off  a 
few  steps  £ind  sat  down  on  the  ground  to  take  an  inventory 
of  the  damage  done  to  her  ladyship,  as  well  as  to  await,  as 
patiently  as  she  could,  the  coming  of  her  father. 

Leaving  her  thus  engaged,  it  is  proper  to  relate  that,  since 
the  arrival  of  the  Federal  forces,  the  relation  of  master  and 
servant  had  become  one  of  those  vexed  questions  which  not 
only  then,  but  has  since  been  of  all  others  connected  with  the 
social  revolution  in  the  South,  the  most  difficult  to  manage. 

Colonel  Moore  had  a  great  many  slaves,  as  has  been  said 
before,  and  they  were  departing  from  his  quarters  as  rapidly 
as  the  autumn  leaves  were  falling  to  the  ground.  To  stop 
this  exodus  and  save  some  of  them  he  had  ventured  to  apply 
to   the    commanding  general  for  assistance  and  protection. 


62  TOM  BURTON. 

His  daughter,  Miss  Kate,  had  accompanied  him  that  morning. 
The  result  of  the  visit  so  far  as  she  is  concerned,  the  reader 
already  knows.     The  rest  is  to  follow. 

By  a  hasty  examination  she  found  her  injury  to  be  only  a 
slight  sprain  of  one  of  her  ankles — merely  a  temporary  shock 
— the  effect  of  which  was  already  disappearing.  A  little  use 
of  it  by  walking  around  soon  restored  its  use,  and  except  some 
slight  pain,  she  no  longer  suffered  any  inconvenience  on 
account  of  it. 

The  time  since  Colonel  Burton  had  left  her  was  inconsider- 
able in  point  of  actual  duration,  but  her  patience  was  pretty 
well  exhausted  when,  creeping  down  the  road  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  village,  there  came  an  old  negro  woman,  a  descrip- 
tion of  whom  may  be  summed  up  in  the  one  word  :  hideous. 
Her  eyes  were  bleared  and  rheumy,  the  lower  lids  turned  out- 
ward and  hung  over  on  her  shriveled  cheeks.  Her  head  was 
as  white  as  cotton,  her  figure  low,  attenuated,  and  bent  at  an 
angle  of  45  degrees.  She  walked  with  a  stick  or  rather  shuf- 
fled along — a  sort  of  creeping  motion — peering  this  way  and 
that  as  if  in  quest  of  some  one  or  something  she  was  anxious 
to  find. 

When  Kate  Moore  first  discovered  her,  she  uttered  a  half 
suppressed  scream.  Hearing  this  the  old  hag  stopped  short 
in  the  road  and  ogled  at  the  frightened  girl,  turning  her  red 
eyeballs  over  and  over  in  a  fashion  calculated  to  disgust  the 
most  obdurate. 

"Merciful  Heavens,  save  me!"  exclaimed  Miss  Moore. 
"Don't  stand  there  and  gaze  at  me  in  that  manner.  Do 
please  pass  on,"  and  she  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes  to  shut 
out  the  frightful  object. 

When  she  removed  her  hands  the  old  negress  was  still  there ; 
only  a  few  yards  nearer  than  before. 

"  Will  you  please  pass  on,  old  woman,  for  my  sake  ?  You 
do  distress  me  awfully.     You  frighten  me  almost   to  death." 

"  You  didn't  used  to  be  afeard  of  niggers,  did  ye,  Miss  Cath- 
arine," replied  the  old  woman,  in  a  slow  husky  voice.  Then 
she  moved  up  a  few  feet  nearer.  Her  garments  were  old  and 
tattered  and  not  in  condition,  as  to  cleanliness,  to  add  anything 
to  her  appearance.  She  went  on  :  "  De  Moores  nor  de  Wal- 
singhams  nuther,  nor  any  of  their  set,  was  ever  afeard  of  nig- 
gers till  dey  was  sot  free.  When  you'  ole  daddy  sole  my  two 
fine  boys  to  de  backwoods,  and  he  put  de  money  on  your 
back  in  a  new  silk  and  satin  coat,  you  was  not  afeard  of  nig- 
gers den,  was  you,  Miss  Catharine  ?  I  s'pose  you  doesn't 
know  who  I  am^  does  you  ?  " 


TOM  BUnTOX.  63 

"  Oh,  no.  I  never  saw  you  before  in  my  life.  I  do  not 
know  what  you  are  talking  about.  Will  you  not  please  go  on  ? 
Oh  !  I  shall  die  if  she  stands  there  gazing  at  me  in  that  way.'* 

"  Dat's  de  way  you  whites  do.  You  wants  to  get  clear  of 
us  when  we  gets  old  and  no  'count.  But,  Miss  Catharine,  we 
niggers  is  all  free  now — free  as  de  bird  in  de  air.  Your  ole 
daddy  can't  sell  us  any  more  to  de  backwoods,  case  dem  ole 
times  is  done  gone  now.  Tor  de  year  ob  Jubelo  am  come,  An 
de  niggars  dey  am  marchin'  home  ! '  " 

As  she  sung  this  couplet,  the  old  woman  swayed  her  little 
bent  form  backward  and  forward,  and  rolled  her  eyes  until 
they  sunk  back  into  their  deep  sockets  as  if  she  were  inspect- 
ing the  contents  of  her  bushy  head.  Miss  Moore  wrung  her 
hands  and  still  pleaded  with  her  to  pass  on.  "  Oh  dear  me  ! 
I  know  I  shall  have  convulsions  if  I  have  to  submit  to  this, 
Will  papa  never  come  ?  " 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  skeer  ye.  Ye  are  a  poor  harmless 
critter,  jest  as  harmless  as  old  Susie  de  witch.  Butye's  gwine 
to  be  married,  dey  say,  to  one  of  de  Walsinghams.  Dem  is 
high  actin'  folks,  dem  Walsinghams  ;  so  is  de  Moores — real 
nigger  'busin'  and  nigger  'spizen  folks,  jest  like  your  set, 
Miss  Catharine.  It  suits  berry  well,  dat  does.  But  dey  say 
he  is  gwine  to  Dixie  Ian',  I  spec's  it'll  be  a  long  time  afore 
he  comes  back  agin,  for  de  year  ob  Jubelo  am  come,  and  de 
niggars  dey  am  marchin'  home.  Great  folks  am  wuff  nuffin' 
now.  Dere  day  is  done  gone  by.  De  bottom  log  hab  come 
to  be  de  rider.  When  old  Susie  gets  her  ten  acres  ground 
and  her  mule  den, 

'De  rain  come  wet  me. 
Sun  come  dry  me. 
Go  way,  while  man, 
Don't  come  nigh  me, 
For  de  year  of  Jubelo  am  come, 
And  de  niggars  dey  be  marchin'  home.'  " 

The  frightful  grimaces  of  the  old  witch,  as  she  sung  in  her 
peculiar  way  the  above  snatches  of  cornfield  songs,  were  be- 
yond endurance,  and  Miss  Moore  turned,  and  was  making  her 
way  down  into  the  depths  of  the  forest  to  get  rid  of  her  tor- 
menter,  when  she  heard  a  noise  as  of  some  one  approaching. 

In  a  moment  Colonel  Burton  came  up,  riding  on  horse- 
back as  he  went  away. 

"Please,  sir,  protect  me  from  the  insults  of  that  old  wretch. 
She  has  just  stood  there  and  tantalized  me  for  the  last  tea 
minutes." 


64  TOM  BURTON, 

Colonel  Burton  looked  at  the  miserable  little  bundle  of  rags 
and  flesh  that  was  neither  human  nor  animal,  and  replied  :  "  I 
presume  she  is  harmless.  Go  on  about  your  business,  old  lady." 

"  Ha,  ha  !  he,  he !  she  calls  me  a  wretch,  now,  case  she 
makes  tent  she  don't  know  me.  Ha,  ha !  look  at  ole  mars- 
ter's  youngest  darter  stoppin'  here  in  de  woods  wid  de 
Yankee  man,  ha,  ha  !  " 

"  See,  here,  if  you  don't  go  on  I  will  pick  up  a  club  and 
make  you.  Do  you  hear  ?  "  said  the  colonel  in  a  tone  firm 
enough  to  frighten  her  off. 

"  Yes,  I  hears,  yah,  yah,  yah  !  ole  marster's  j^oungest  darter, 
yah,  yah,  yah !  "  she  shouted  down  the  road  as  she  hobbled 
off. 

"  The  impudent  old  hag  says  she  belongs  to  us.  Keally  I 
have  no  knowledge  of  her,  we  have  so  many  of  them.  But, 
Colonel,"  she  started  up,  as  if  she  had  forgotten  something  of 
great  importance,  "  where  is  uiy  father  ?  " 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  have  to  inform  you,  Miss  Moore,  that 
your  father  is  not  allowed  to  come  to  you. 

Kate  began  to  turn  pale.     The  colonel  proceeded  : 

"  In  his  interview  with  the  general  he  very  unwisely  allowed 
his  temper  to  get  the  better  of  him,  and  speaking  his  mind 
rather  too  freely,  was  sent  to  prison  for  disloyalty.  I  am  ex- 
tremely sorry  for  it  on  your  account." 

"Alas  !  poor  papa  !  "  she  exclaimed,  breaking  down  com- 
pletely. 

Colonel  Burton  turned  aside.  He  had  no  consolation  to 
offer,  at  least  there  was  nothing  he  could  say,  that  would  do 
any  good,  so  he  was  silent. 

"  What  shall  I  do,  what  shall  I  do  ?  she  sobbed.  I  cannot 
go  home  without  him.    It  will  kill  mother.   What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Permit  me  to  suggest,  Miss  Moore,  that  is  a  question  jow 
ought  to  settle  at  once,  and  according  to  your  best  judgment. 
It  is  growing  late  and  colder  every  hour,  and  if  I  mistake 
not,  you  live  at  a  considerable  distance  from  here,  This  spot 
offers  very  few  conveniences  for  you  to  stop  long,  your 
father  will  be  imprisoned  for  several  daj^s  at  least,  and  unless 
he  agrees  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance,  it  may  be  months,  he 
may  yet  have  to  go  to  Fortress  Monroe,  or  Fort  McHenry  ;  so 
if  you  will  place  j^ourself  under  my  protection,  I  will  pledge 
m^^self  upon  honor  as  a  gentleman,  to  take  the  best  care  of 
you  I  can,  and  conduct  you  safely  to  your  home." 

"  But  can  I  not  see  my  father  before  I  go  ?  "  she  asked  en- 
treatingly. 

"I  am  afraid  you  cannot.     The  general  is   quite  incensed 


TOM  BURTON.  65 

at  the  conduct  of  your  father,  and  any  appeal  to  his  mercy  at 
this  time  would  prove  unavailing,  and  only  serve  to  add  fuel 
to  his  anger."  Then,  while  Miss  Kate  stood  irresolute  looking 
sorrowfully  upon  the  ground,  as  if  trying  to  elect  in  her  mind 
what  to  do,  he  continued  : 

"  If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  lift  you  into  my  saddle. 
You  can  ride  my  horse,  and  I  will  mount  your  filly,  and  see 
you  home.  After,  I  shall  have  your  buggy  repaired  and  sent 
back  to  you.  In  the  meantime  all  that  I  can  accomplish  by 
my  influence  toward  the  release  of  your  father  shall  be  done. 
Are  you  ready  to  consent  to  my  proposition,  or  do  you  intend 
to  remain  here  all  night  ?  " 

She  seemed  to  be  weighing  the  matter  over  and  over,  and 
the  varying  shadows  which  flitted  over  her  delicate  blonde 
features  told  of  the  strife  within.  At  last  she  replied  with  a 
sigh  that  seemed  to  say,  I  can  do  nothing  better : 

"My  unfortunate  situation,  sir,  compels  me  to  accept. 
But  little  did  I  once  think  I  should  be  brought  to  this." 

"  Do  not  reproach  yourself,  Miss  Kate,  I  can  safely  testify 
it  is  not  your  fault,  but  your  misfortune.  War  times,  like 
necessit}^,  make  strange  companions.     Let  us  be  going." 

"And  you.  Colonel  Burton,  may  as  well  make  up  your 
mind  that  but  for  necessity  you  would  not  have  my  company 
to-day ;  but  as  it  is,  I  am  forced  to  surrender  at  discretion, 
and  do  now  put  myself  under  the  protection  of  a  Yankee 
officer.  Alas !  my  poor  father,  if  I  could  only  see  him.  I  do 
hate  so  much  to  go  home  without  him.  I  am  at  your  service, 
sir." 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

THE  CITY  BY  THE  SEA. 

Of  all  the  seaport  towns  in  the  United  States,  Korfolk  is 
the  most  provincial  in  its  appearance. 

Indeed,  from  the  days  of  the  Eevolution  to  the  date  of 
our  story,  no  city  in  this  rapidly  developing  and  changing 
country  underwent  so  little  alteration. 

Its  limits,  like  those  of  a  certain  village  we  have  mentioned, 
were  almost  circumscribed — not  naturally  so,  but  because  of 
the  non-progressive  character  of  its  leading  citizens.  For 
centuries  it  preserved  its  general  outlines,  social  customs,  and 
amount  of  business  while  other  maritime  cities  of  the 
republic  grew  and  expanded  into  marvelous  porportions. 


66  TOM  BVnTOX. 

Since  tlie  late  war,Northern  capital,  Northern  enterprise  and 
northern  industry  have  been  infused  into  its  conservative 
community,  and  Yankee  push  and  energy  have  done  a  vast 
deal  to  alter  the  normal  status  and  make  the  future  of  that 
old  city  by  the  sea  a  possibility. 

This  change  is  most  observable  in  its  spacious  wharves,  its 
lines  of  ocean  and  inland  steamers,  its  improved  architecture, 
especially  in  its  West-end  (all  cities  have  West-ends),  and 
lateh^  in  the  expansion  of  its  limits. 

Slowly  but  surelj' its  old  cobble-stones  are  being  removed 
and  new  Belgian  pavements  laid  in  their  place.  Hipped- 
roofed  dwellings,  reared  in  the  time  of  William  and  Mary, 
have  given  place  to  the  mansard,  much  to  the  disgust  of  the 
antiquarian  it  is  true,  but  in  keeping  with  the  onward 
march  of  civilization  and  refinement.  Now  and  then  the 
fire-fiend  sweeps  away  whole  blocks  of  these  old  edifices, 
tottering  with  age  and  ready  to  fall  to  pieces  from  delapidation 
and  decay,  and  new  iron  buildings  go  up  in  their  stead.  It 
was  the  custom,  a  long  while  ago,  for  capitalists  to  pile  their 
money  up  in  banks  instead  of  investing  it  in  enterprises  which 
would  tend  to  beautify  their  city  and  give  employment  to  its 
poor  people  ;  but  recent  failures  and  wholesale  plundering 
of  their  patrons  by  these  rotten  institutions  have  had  the 
effect  of  releasing  capital  and  directing  it  into  its  legitimate 
and  proper  channels. 

Quaint  old  city,  you  have  a  history  special  to  j^ourself  and 
memories  galore  !  Here  Tom  Moore  sojourned  awhile  and 
wrote  his  "  Lake  of  the  Dismal  Swamp."  Here  G.  P.  K. 
James,  the  "  solitary  horseman  "  novelist,  lived  and  wrote  many 
of  his  most  pleasing  stories.  Here  the  scourge  of  fever  has 
been  felt  in  its  ravages,  and  here  the  tocsin  of  war  has  often 
been  sounded.  The  Elizabeth  River  with  its  many  branches 
flows  up  from  Hampton  R-oads,  dividing  iSTorfolk  from  Ports- 
mouth, its  sister  town,  and  teaming  with  boat  life  such  as  is 
seen  in  no  other  harbor  in  the  world ;  and  remarkable  for  the 
diversity  of  its  craft — var3ang  in  rig  and  size  from  a  pirogue 
to  a  ship  of  the  line. 

A  mixed  and  busy  (from  a  Southern  point  of  view)  popula- 
tion crowd  the  main  streets,  toil  about  the  docks,  and 
congregate  about  the  market-place,  representing  every 
phase  of  social  life  from  the  homeless  waif  of  a  negro  to  the 
scion  of  Virginia's  bluest  blood. 

Pure  Anglo-Saxon  extraction  is  the  boast  of  the  aristocracy, 
and  it  must  be  admitted,  if  such  can  be  found  in  any  spot  in 
America,  one  might  hope  to  see  it  here.    From  these  families 


TOM  BURTON.  67 

still  spring  young  men  of  excellent  culture  and  fine  physique, 
and  young  girls  whose  beaut}^  of  form  and  feature  is  not 
equaled  in  any  other  city  of  its  size  in  the  world.  The  soft, 
balmy  Gulf  air  coursing  through  the  pine  woods,  bestows  that 
delightful  complexion  one  sees  there  in  the  faces  of  its  women, 
which,  in  connection  with  good  blood  and  excellent  breeding, 
makes  Xorfolk  women  desirable  ;  not  only  on  account  of 
their  great  beauty,  but  exalted  qualities.  Their  unaffected 
truthfulness,  and  easy  and  apt  adaptability  to  domestic  duties, 
have  grown  into  a  proverb  which  saj's,  "  Happy  is  the  man 
who  finds  his  wife  in  Norfolk." 

Of  this  old  borough,  as  it  appeared  in  1861,  we  now  propose 
to  write,  and  so,  leaving  Kate  Moore  in  the  hands  of  her 
captor,  let  us  follow  the  fortunes  of  her  affianced  as  he  jour- 
neys toward  this  little  city  by  the  sea. 

December  was  at  hand.  Stern  winter  had  closed  in  upon 
an  unusually  pleasant  fall,  and  an  ever-to-be-remembered 
epoch  was  drawing  to  its  close.  It  was  the  harvest  of  a 
thirty  years  sowing  to  the  wind,  and  a  devoted  country  was 
preparing  to  reap  the  whirlwind. 

Proudly  throbbed  the  heart  of  the  j^oung  Confederacy.  Her 
recent  trials  of  strength  with  an  over-indulgent  parent,  re- 
sulting in  a  victory  for  her  cause,  had  not  only  fulfilled  the 
predictions  of  her  great  men  in  regard  to  her  prowess  and 
the  personal  bravery  of  her  sons,  but  had  inspired  her  with 
an  overweening  confidence  which  nothing  less  than  four 
weary  years  of  bitter  strife  could  daunt. 

Catching  the  military  spirit,  the  Southern  patriots  rushed 
wildly  to  the  border,  infused  with  all  the  romance  of  battle 
and  all  the  bright  prospects  of  a  speedy  recognition  of  their 
government's  independence  by  the  world.  The  population 
of  the  border  towns  was  increased  to  ten  times  their  normal 
numbers. 

Norfolk  fairly  blazed  with  enthusiasm,  and  was  overrun 
with  soldiers.  Not  even  the  new  capital  on  the  James 
could  compare  with  her  for  gayety  during  that  gala  winter 
season  of  '61  and  '62.  Troops  from  Mississippi,  troops  from 
Louisiana,  troops  from  Georgia,  Alabama,  and  the  Carolinas 
thronged  her  streets  or  tented  among  her  suburbs. 

The  navy  yard  at  Gosport,  only  partially  destroyed  by  the 
Federals  when  they  left  it  to  their  successors,  had  been  re- 
constructed and  was  the  scene  of  great  activity.  Here  the 
"Merrimac"  was  receiving  her  armor  of  plate,  destined,  ere 
long,  to  astonish  the  world  by  her  wonderful  exploits. 

Gaudily  attired  officers   and   smiling  women   paraded  the 


68  TOM  BURTON. 

streets  and  public  walks  by  day,  and  reveled  in  the  giddy 
dance  at  night. 

Loud  people  and  fast,  attracted  by  the  glamour  of  military 
display,  flocked  into  the  old  city  until  every  nook  and  corner 
was  overflowing  with  humanity.  Every  day  was  turned  into 
a  pageant  and  every  night  into  debauchery. 

Beauty  and  the  beast  held  high  carnival.  The  sound  of 
the  drum  and  fife,  the  strains  of  martial  music,  and  the 
novelty  of  everything  gave  the  scene  a  picture  of  mediaeval 
splendor,  and  an  unrestrained  gush  of  feeling  that  carried 
people  off  their  equilibrium. 

Men  and  women  of  all  classes  took  the  liberty  to  distort 
their  conduct. 

Even  the  military  was  allowed  carte-blanche.  It  seemed 
to  be  the  policj^  of  their  leaders  to  indulge  them.  It  was 
necessary  that  the  most  alluring  side  of  the  tableaus  be  first 
presented.  The  young  soldier  must  not  be  frightened  b}^  a 
contemplation  of  the  horrors  of  war.  He  must  be  tempered 
to  the  service.  Veterans  are  not  born  like  poets,  but  made — 
hardened  as  steel  is  hardened  out  of  iron. 

The  raw  recruit  must  be  fitted  for  the  slaughter,  fed  upon 
the  smiles  of  fair  damsels  and  drenched  with  conviviality, 
before  he  is  marched  off  into  the  field  to  face  the  red  bolts  of 
hell. 

Eor  all  such  tender  plants,  Norfolk  was  a  fitting  hothouse — 
a  nursery  where  luxury  and  vice  vitiated  the  moral  sense 
and  cultivated  all  the  vicious  tendencies  of  the  human  heart. 

First  of  all  came  woman  with  her  man-making  and  man- 
destroying  appliances.  The  purest  and  best  of  these  cast 
themself  into  the  whirling  vortex  of  excitement  with  an 
abandon  that,  under  other  circumstances,  would  have  been 
considered  by  the  most  liberal  of  either  sex,  as  indecent  bold- 
ness, while  the  demi-monde  opened  boldly  their  gorgeous 
temples  of  lasciviousness  to  the  young  hero  of  Mars,  and  blase 
courtesans  led  the  dance  in  the  more  degraded  dens  of 
infam}'. 

And  then,  the  display,  the  allurements  of  camp  life,  and 
the  blissful  luxury  of  idleness  ! 

Under  the  gaslight,  into  the  noisy  throng,  through  the 
glaring  streets  of  this  Babylon,  teaming  with  men,  women 
and  children,  black  and  white,  amid  the  rolling  of  drums  and 
piping  of  fifes,  rode  our  three  voyagers  in  the  creaking  old 
ambulance,  tired  and  dust}"  from  the  effects  of  their  long 
drive,  but  already  obnoxious  to  the  spirit  of  wantonness  that 
filled  the  place,  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  of  their 
arrival  at  Linn  Haven. 


TOM  BUBTON.  69 

The  hotels  being  crowded  to  overflowing,  our  new-comers 
were  forced  to  seek  lodgings  in  a  private  boarding-house. 
This  they  found,  without  much  trouble,  at  229  Main  street, 
where  a  lady  lived  with  whom  Captain  Evans  was  well  ac- 
quainted. Captain  Walsingham  found  at  this  place  some 
acquaintances,  refugee  members  of  his  own  regiment,  who 
had  preceded  him  to  Dixie.  By  these  and  the  other  boarders 
the  young  officer  was  received  with  open  arms,  he  and  his 
two  companions  being  provided  for  in  the  most  comfortable 
manner.  The  hostess,  a  Mrs.  Kendall,  was  an  Eastern  Shore 
lady  herself,  having  married  a  Norfolk  gentleman ;  and  al- 
though she  was  not  rich,  by  any  means,  she  was  a  good  house- 
keeper, and  her  table  reflected  the  glow  of  the  flush  times  of 
the  period.  Pipes,  wine,  dancing,  poker-playing,  a  jolly  madam 
and  a  quiet  sort  of  fifth-wheel-appendage  of  a  husband,  was 
the  general  programme  at  229  Main  Street. 

Tea  was  over,  and  half  a  score  of  gentlemen,  mostly  of  the 
army,  bearing  commissions  from  that  of  brigadier  to  third 
lieutenant,  were  congregated  in  the  little  go-as-you-please 
parlor,  which  reeked  with  the  curling  smoke  of  almost  as 
many  pipes  as  men.  There  was  something  very  social  and 
homelike  to  Claude  in  these  surroundings,  while  Captain 
Evans  and  Sammy  really  rejoiced  in  the  pleasure  of  unre- 
strained familiarity. 

The  arrival  of  our  Eastern  Shore  friends  was  quite 
apropos. 

A  certain  Miss  Buttercup,  a  society  woman  of  almost  world- 
wide reputation,  had  invited  the  officers  boarding  with  the 
good  ;Mrs.  Kendall  to  a  soiree  at  her  house  in  Freemason 
Street,  the  party  being  given  exclusively  in  honor  and  for 
the  benefit,  of  her  distinguished  household,  and  this  was  the 
evening  it  was  to  come  off. 

Now,  Miss  Buttercup  was  not  the  only  lady  who  was  enter- 
taining soldiers  in  Norfolk,  by  any  means.  All  the  ladies 
were  actually  vying  with  each  other  in  offering  every  means 
in  their  power  to  contribute  to  the  happiness  of  the  brave 
defenders  of  the  sacred  soil. 

But  Miss  Buttercup's  parties  were  phenomenal.  The  char- 
acter of  the  woman  lent  a  sort  of  unusual  charm  to  her  hos- 
pitality. 

In  the  first  place,  she  was  beyond  question  beautiful ;  and, 
what  was  of  equal  consequence,'she  was  brilliant.  A  host  of 
admirers  thronged  her  pathway.  Jealous,  namby-pamby  old 
maids  at  the  West-end — all  cities  have  West-ends — said  she 
was  fast^  and^  indeed,  the  best  society  had  cut  her  to  some 


70  TOM  BURTON, 

extent  for  what  they  considered  a  loudness,  too  loud  for  the 
moral  ears  of  the  South. 

But  this  had  all  been  cured  by  the  great  upheaval  of  the 
war,  and  Miss  Buttercup,  whose  name  had  been  somewhat 
beclouded  in  her  own  town,  again  burst  forth  in  all  the 
splendor  of  her  unparalleled  loveliness,  and  all  the  glory  of 
her  poetic  genius;  for  in  her  case  dame  Xature  had  for  once 
broken  her  almost  inexorable  law,  by  bestowing  upon  this 
Norfolk  woman  all  the  graces  and  attractions  of  her  sex,  both 
in  form  and  features,  and,  at  the  same  time,  granting  her  an 
intellect  superior  to  that  of  most  people.  Her  prose  writings 
were  profuse  and  clever.  Her  poetry  readable.  But  it  was 
her  personal  beauty  which  attracted  most.  In  style  she  was 
a  soft  brunette.  Her  eyes  were  dark,  hair  brown,  complexion 
olive,  lips  pink,  teeth  pearly.  Indeed,  so  lovely  was  this 
woman,  from  a  physical  point  of  view,  that  sculptors  sought 
her  boudoir,  and  painters  courted  her  presence,  eager  to  per- 
petuate, in  marble  and  on  canvas,  the  outlines  of  her  perfect 
limbs,  or  oriental  countenance.  Such  was  the  woman  who 
was  to  entertain  Mrs.  Kendall's  shoulder-strap  gentry  in  her 
gorgeous  salon  this  evening. 

The  invitation  is  to  every  one  of  you  who  wears  an  officer's 
uniform,"  exclaimed  the  good  lady  coming  into  the  beclouded 
sitting-room. 

"  And  all  new-comers  of  the  same  stamp,  are  included," 
she  added,  casting  a  knowing  glance  at  Claude. 

"  Of  course,  Captain  Walsingham  is  one  of  us,  and  will 
favor  us  with  his  company.  Why,  sir,  I  long  to  present  you 
to  the  finest  specimen  of  womanly  humanity  you  ever  saw. 
The  Prince  of  Wales  last  year  was  entirely  gone  on  her, 
danced  his  first  set  with  her  in  Washington,  the}'^  saj^,  and,  do 
you  know,  sir,  that  she  is  one  of  the  three  leading  belles  of 
this  country.  The  President's  niece,  sir.  Miss  Lane,  the 
celebrated  Madam  Le  Vert  of  Mobile,  and  lastly,  but  not 
least.  Miss  Buttercup,  are  the  three  ladies  referred  to,  sir. 
By  the  by,  did  you  know  that  Miss  Buttercup's  portrait  was 
on  exhibition  at  the  World's  Fair  in  London,  along  with  that 
of  the  Duchess  of  Sutherland,  and  that  the  two  were  voted 
the  handsomest  brace  of  women  in  the  world  ?  I  tell  you 
what,  sir,  she  is  a  stunner,  and  few  people  are  the  recipients 
of  such  an  honor  as  we  are  to-night.  You  may  rely  upon 
that,  Captain  Walsingham." 

The  talker  was  a  brigadier  past  the  middle  age  of  life,  lo- 
quacious and  genial. 

^'I  must  admit,  General,  I  have  heard  something  of  this 


TOM  BURTOX.  Tt 

paragon  of  yours  in  my  own  out-of-the-way  county  on  the  other 
side  of  the  bay,  and  while,  from  what  I  have  heard,  I  am  in- 
clined to  think  she  is  rather  bold,  still  I  have  great  curiosity 
to  see  her,  and  although  I  am  entirely  out  of  the  market,  as 
the  saying  goes,  I  ought  to  be  able  to  face  even  the  battery 
of  her  eyes,  without  getting  so  much  as  singed  by  the  fire  of 
her  good  looks." 

"  Very  good.  Captain ;  all  I  have  to  say  is,  if  you  come 
away  safe  and  sound  you'll  be  the  first  one  yet  to  do  so  who 
has  ever  encountered  jNIiss  Buttercup's  charms." 

But  here  is  my  friend  Captain  Evans,  who  has  as  honor- 
able a  title  as  any  of  us.  It  is  not  proper  for  me  to  leave 
him,  seeing  it  is  the  last  night  he  is  to  remain  in  the  city 
before  his  return,"  suggested  the  young  officer. 

"  Which  are  wery  kind  and  considerate  of  j'ou,  Captain 
Walshingham,  to  think  of  your  old  friend  under  sich  restin- 
guished  circumstances.  But  pray,  gentlemen,  do  not  relow 
me  to  interfere  in  the  remotestest  degree  with  your  plans  and 
purposes.  AVe  uns,  that  is  me  and  Sammy,  can  regale  our- 
selves here  by  the  fire  untwill  you  uns  returns." 

"AYhich  you  shall  by  no  means  do.  Captain  Evans.  You 
too  shall  accompany  us.  You  and  Captain  Walsingham  just 
walk  up  into  my  room  and  see  what  I  shall  do,"  exclaimed 
the  jolly  old  brigadier.  "  This  is  not  to  be  a  masquerade,  it 
is  true,  but  a  little  deception  won't  hurt,"  he  continued,  after 
they  had  ascended  to  the  third  floor  and  were  safely  ensconced 
in  the  general's  bed-chamber.  "  Here  is  a  suit  of  regimentals 
left  here  by  a  room-mate  of  mine,  Major  Begard,  who  has  run 
off  on  a  little  trip  to  Richmond.  AVhat  say  you.  Captain 
Evans,  to  donning  this  uniform  and  becoming  one  of  our  party  ? 

"  A  moist  excellent  idear,  Gineral,  moist  excellent.  I  can 
play  that  ar'  roll  ter  perfection,  gentlemen,  provided  the  trow- 
sers  is  not  a  mite  too  full  in  the  front,"  said  the  old  salt,  hold- 
ing up  the  garment  mentioned  in  front  of  him,  surveying 
critically  the  enormous  proportion  of  that  part  of  their  build 
to  which  he  had  referred. 

Claude  was  amused  at  the  scheme. 

"  Suppose  you  try  them  on,"  suggested  the  general. 

The  objection  which  the  old  waterman  had  expressed  at 
first  sight  was  confirmed  ;  for  while  he  was  a  powerful  indi- 
vidual, in  point  of  size,  his  rotundity  was  not  equal  to  that 
of  the  absent  major^  and  the  old  man's  eyes  dropped  in  dis- 
appointment.    But  it  was  only  a  momentary  discomfiture. 

You  jest  step  down-stairs,  and  tell  the  landlady  ter  send 
me  up  a  needle   and  thread,  friend  Walshingham,  we'll  take 


72  To^f  BunTON. 

a  berrin'-bone  reef  in  tbese  'ere  unmentionables  bebind,  and 
ef  they  don't  fit  this  old  hull,  you  may  call  me  a  land- 
lubber." 

Captain  Evans  proved  himself  to  be  as  good  at  tailoring  as 
boating,  and  in  the  short  space  of  ten  minutes  was  ready  to 
put  in  his  appearance  in  the  parlor  below,  sustaining  his  new 
promotion  with  all  the  dignity  of  a  gentleman  of  his  parts 
and  perfectly  at  home  with  his  gaudily  attired  associates,  who 
were  awaiting  his  debut. 

His  reception  was  a  regular  ovation,  and  the  general  highly 
praised  for  the  ingenuity  which  had  prompted  him  to  think 
of  the  arrangement.  Congratulations  were  in  order,  hand- 
shakings, bravos,  and  even  Mrs.  Kendall  was  called  in  to 
take  a  look  at  her  new  acquisition  in  the  shape  of  another 
gentleman  of  such  high  rank,  and  distingue  appearance,  at 
the  conclusion  of  all  of  which  ceremony  they  bundled  off  in 
the  direction  of  Freemason  Street,  leaving  Sammy  to  entertain 
his  genial  hostess  with  on  clit  of  her  old  home  and  stories 
of  hair-breadth  escapes  relating  to  blockade  running  and 
so  forth. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  the  gay  party  from  229  Main 
Street,  reached  their  destination. 

Miss  Buttercup  lived  in  grand  style.  Her  salons  were  not 
as  elegantly  furnished  as  those  of  the  fast  women  of  France, 
in  the  da^'s  of  the  revolution,  but  her  manner  of  living  was 
much  after  the  same  fashion.  A  colored  man-servant  in  full 
dress  met  our  friends  at  the  door,  conducting  them  to  a 
dressing-room,  where  they  divested  themselves  of  their 
galoches,  and  overcoats,  and  from  thence  were  ushered  into 
the  parlor,  Miss  Buttercup  receiving  them  as  they  entered. 
General  Wynder  (our  loquacious  brigadier),  presented  his 
friends  one  by  one  as  they  filed  into  the  room. 

Never  was  handsomer  woman  more  attractively  superb  in 
her  get-up,  than  the  fair  hostess,  while  her  full,  voluptuous 
form  fairly  swelled  with  womanly  perfection. 

She  wore  a  white  satin  skirt,  with  flowing  train  bespangled 
with  thousands  of  small  gold  stars  representing  the  nebulaer 
of  the  heavens,  while  her  skirt  was  trimmed  to  show  the  con- 
stellations of  the  zodiac. 

Her  bodice  was  cut  low  in  V  shape,  and  decollete.  Bracelets, 
enameled  and  set  in  diamonds,  encircled  her  round  forearm, 
and  gems  of  the  same  quality  sparkled  in  her  dark  brown 
hair.  White  satin  slippers  peeped  out  from  their  hiding 
place  of  tulle  and  lace,  and  the  unmistakable  evidence  of  a 
luscious  womanhood,  seemed  to  struggle  with  its  slight  con- 


TOM  BUB  TON.  73 

finement,  as  lier  pouting  bust  rose  and  fell,  white  and  smooth 
as  parian  marble. 

"This,  Miss  Buttercup,  is  IVIajor  Evans  of  the  Eastern 
Shore,  a  distinguished  officer  whose  gallantry  in  arras  is  only 
equalled  by  his  gallantry  in  society.  I  commend  him  to  your 
regal  hospitality,"  said  the  general,  presenting  our  old 
friend. 

The  major  bowed  profoundly,  and  as  Miss  Buttercup  ex- 
tended her  hand  he  grasped  it  in  his  vise-like  grip,  until  the 
pretty  woman  almost  screamed  in  agony,  causing  her  to 
entirely  forget  the  little  speech  she  was  about  to  make. 

"  I  consider  this  a  recashion  to  be  werry  proud  ev.  Miss 
Buttercup,"  began  the  major,  still  holding  the  lady's  hand, 
and  thoroughly  charmed  by  her  beautiful  appearance.  "  We 
uns  seldom  hev  the  honor  of  meetin'  sich  as  you." 

"  Your  kind  compliments.  Major,  are  more  than  appre- 
ciated. It  is  indeed  refreshing  to  see  gentlemen  of  your  age 
from  the  quiet  country,  with  habits  so  domestic  and  rural, 
sacrificing  everything  for  their  country.  We  shall  surely 
succeed,  sir,  when  not  only  our  youth,  but  the  bone  and 
sinew  of  the  land  have  espoused  our  cause.  I  welcome  3'ou  as 
a  friend  of  General  Wynder,  and  henceforth  a  friend  of 
mine." 

So  much  sweet  condescension  was  fast  telling  upon  our 
new  major,  and  he  showed  no  disposition  to  relinquish  his 
position ;  but  Claude,  who  was  just  behind  him  and  next  to 
be  presented,  fearing  the  old  fellow  might  betray  his  disguise, 
took  the  part  of  Mentor  and  forced  him  along.  So,  stum- 
bling over  the  thick  Brussels,  like  a  man  who  has  lost  his 
sea  legs.  Major  Evans,  with  his  regimental  coat  buttoned  up 
tight  to  the  throat,  but  rather  baggy  about  the  waist,  tried 
to  strut  back  to  the  rear  parlor,  with  the  dignity  of  one  who 
was  proud  of  his  office. 

Then  came  Claude's  turn. 

"  I  now  have  the  pleasure  of  presenting  Captain  Claude 
Walsingham,  another  specimen  of  Eastern  Shoremen,  and  to 
prevent  any  future  trouble  which  might  arise  on  account  of 
3'ou  two  being  enamored  of  each  other,  permit  me  to  remark. 
Miss  Buttercup,  that  our  friend's  affections  are  already  dis- 
posed of;  and  his  heart  is  not  only  unfortunately  within  the 
Federal  lines,  but  locked  up  in  the  bosom  of  some  fair  dam- 
sel he  has  left  behind,  in  his  sea-girt  home  across  the  bay," 
remarked  the  general  facetiously. 

"  You  are  very  timely,  I  might  say,  a  little  too  previous,  in 
your  warnings,   General,"   replied  Miss  Buttercup,  greeting 


74  TOM  BURTON, 

her  new  acquaintance  with  a  smile  from  her  rosy  lips,  which 
went  to  Claude's  heart,  like  a  flash  of  electricity.  "  And  I 
sincerely  thank  you  for  your  kind  consideration  for  my  wel- 
fare. But  as  every  thing  is  fair  in  love,  and  war,  why  not 
leave  us  to  work  out  our  own  salvation  ?  We  are  both  of  age. 
Captain,  and  might,  I  think,  be  able  to  take  care  of  ourselves. 
I  feel  already  that  we  shall  be  the  best  of  friends.  I  receive 
you,  sir,  with  open  arms." 

'•  And  I,"  rej^lied  Claude  with  a  dash  of  gallantry  quite 
natural  to  him,  "  am  truly  grateful  for  the  opportunity  of 
rushing  headlong  into  the  fond  embrace,  so  temptingly 
offered." 

"  There,  now,  I  told  you  so,"  blurted  out  the  General. 

^^Ha,  ha!  laughed  Miss  Buttercup.  Don't  you  get  jealous 
G-eneral,  we'll  finish  this  business  bj^-and-by.  Captain,"  she 
added  with  a  sly  glance  at  the  young  officer  as  he  moved  on 
to  give  place  to  another  one  of  tlie  numerous  company,  while 
Claude,  ahead,  wounded  by  the  merciless  onslaught  of  her 
dark  eyes,  sallied  into  the  back  parlor  to  join  his  old  friend, 
who  had  preceded  him  into  that  cosy  apartment,  where  an 
open  grate  gave  a  homelike  and  comfortable  aspect  to  the 
surroundings  and  afforded  Major  Evans  an  opportunity  to 
taste  "  the  weed,"  which  opportunity  he  had  duly  improved 
and  was  even  now  sprawled  out  on  a  delicate  tete-a-tete 
seat  with  his  long  leg  and  heavy  boot  thrown  independently 
over  the  end  of  it,  and  at  least  an  ounce  of  "  nigger  heel," 
stowed  away  in  the  cul  de  sac  of  his  great  square  jaw. 

"  Ain't  she  a  gallus  un.  Captain  ?  I'll  allow  her  smiles  are 
enough  to  make  a  feller  feel  as  ef  he  begredged  the  ground 
she  walks  onto.  Why,  sir,  a  touch  av  the  lips  av  that  ar 
gal,  would  wake  the  dead.  Captain  Walshingham  !" 

''You  are  correct,  my  friend.  And  I  must  admit  if  things 
were  not  as  they  are  at  home  I  should  tackle  on,  as  you  sea- 
men say." 

"  As  we  military  gentlemen  say,"  corrected  Captain 
Evans. 

"  Just  so,  pardon  me.  Indeed  I  should  consider  myself 
but  sorry  merchandise  to  offer  in  exchange  for  such  a  lovely 
creature." 

"  I  would  rewise  you  to  keep  your  eye  on  that  cutter, 
Captain  ;  she  are  a  right  smart  dangerous  craft  for  sich  coun- 
trymen as  we  uns  ;  and  as  I  am  gittin'  along  in  years  and 
seen  as  how  you  have  lowerned  your  flag  to  t'other  one 
cross  the  bay,  it  wouldn't  be  altogether  the  proper  thing  to 
swar  allegiance  to  too  many  petticoat  governments  at  once." 


TOMBUttfON.  75 

**So,  sol  but  what  has  a  fellow  to  do ?  It  seems  almost 
impossible  to  resist." 

"  True ;  but  we  uns  must  run  the  gauntlet  as  best  we 
can." 

"  Good  advice,  my  old  friend  ;  but  who  ever  attempts  to 
pass  the  battery  of  her  dark  eyes  will  go  down,  I'm  afraid. 
Brace  up,  Major,  she's  approaching  us." 

She  came  in  with  the  gait  of  majesty,  leaning  on  the  arm 
of  the  venerable  General  Wynder,  her  long  train  sweeping 
the  carpet  behind  her. 

The  major  had  previously  divested  himself  of  his  quid,  not 
on  account  of  any  oral  suggestion  of  his  friend,  however,  but 
for  reasons  more  selfish  and  promptings  more  sensual.  The 
quick  eye  and  ready  instinct  of  the  old  "sea  dog"  had  been 
allured  and  awakened  by  the  sight  as  well  as  the  odor  of  viands 
both  elegant  and  tempting. 

A  certain  flavor  as  aromatic  to  his  olfactory  organ  as  a 
zephyr  fresh  from  the  groves  of  Araby  the  blest,  had  directed 
his  attention  to  a  table  which  stood  in  the  far  right-hand 
corner  of  the  room,  where  glasses,  tumblers,  and  decanters 
were  arrayed  in  gorgeous  splendor,  in  the  midst  of  which 
towered  the  stately  outlines  of  a  huge  bowl  within  whose 
expansive  rim  there  rose  the  lofty  peaks  of  floating  islands 
disporting  themselves  upon  the  amber  surface  of  a  delicious 
eggnog. 

Now,  if  anything  in  this  wide  world  could  coax  a  chew  of 
tobacco  from  its  hiding-place  in  the  old  sailor's  mouth  it  was 
the  fragrance  of  this  favorite  Virginia  beverage.  But  Major 
Evans  was  not  the  only  negative  that  was  attracted  by  this 
positive  influence.  It  was  this  same  thing  which  had  called 
the  fair  hostess  and  her  chivalric  chaperon  into  the  back 
parlor,  and  brought  them  again  in  contact  with  the  young 
captain  of  cavalry. 

As  they  approached,  the  latter  attempted  to  speak  first,  but 
was  anticipated  by  the  doughty  general. 

"  Now,  my  dear  Captain,  I  am  going  to  commit  this  lady 
to  your  safe-keeping  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  and  in 
so  doing  I  again  must  be  permitted  to  call  your  attention  to 
the  fact  that  you  have  both  been  sufficiently  warned,  and  if 
anything  untoward  should  happen,  do  not  look  at  me  or  have 
the  hardihood  to  say,  *  General  Wj-nder  did  it.'  " 

"Indeed,  my  dear  General,  you  shall  be  entirely  exonerated. 
If  we  go  astray  we  shall  certainly  not  hold  our  good  guardian 
accountable  and  plead  the  Infancy  Act." 

"  We'll  allow  the  law  to  take  its  course  shall  we  not  ?  Miss ;  " 
got  in  Claude, 


76  TOM  JUJlitOir. 

"  By  all  meanS;  darling,"  she  whispered  the  last  word  in 
his  ear. 

"  So,  so  !  There  appears  to  be  collusion  already  I  see,  sup- 
pose I  retire  and  give  you  two  a  chance  to  hang  your- 
selves ?  " 

"  No,  General,  not  so  fast ;  we  shall  need  your  gallant 
services  presently  over  there,"  she  replied,  pointing  to  the 
table.  "  As  for  the  Captain  and  myself,  we  shall  find  a  a 
opportunity  by  and  by  to  test  the  vulnerability  of  each  other's 
armor.  Let  us  pay  attention  now  to  the  more  important  if 
grosser  duties  of  the  occasion.  Come  on,  Captain  Walsingham." 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

THE  SPIDER  AND  THE  FLY. 

The  reader  who  imagines  that  Miss  Buttercup  is  a  bad 
woman,  in  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  the  term,  and  that  her 
true  character  is  not  revealed,  either  because  the  writer  is 
unwilling,  or  incompetent  to  paint  such  a  character,  is  sadly 
mistaken. 

Certainly,  any  woman  who  could  enthrall  a  prince,  lead 
the  van  of  society  at  our  national  capital  in  the  palmy  days 
of  chivalry,  and  bring  to  her  feet  the  leading  spirits  of  the" 
age,  should  receive  some  delicacy  of  treatment  even  at  the 
hands  of  the  severest  critic,  and  not  be  insinuated  into  the 
lowest  depths  of  infamy  and  shame  without  some  excuse,  or — 
what  was,  at  the  time  of  which  we  write,  a  favorite  expres- 
sion— some  "overt  act." 

In  fact,  a  woman  ought  to  be  taken  exactly  for  what  she 
is  and  what  she  is  worth,  and  not  on  trust  or  suspicion,  one 
way  or  the  other. 

It  will  not  do  to  argue  her  case  from  a  circumstantial 
aspect,  when  one  must  not  even  believe  his  own  eyes,  as  to 
the  truth  of  this  or  that,  what  she  does  or  what  is  said  about 
her.  She  eateth  and  wipeth  her  mouth,  and  sayeth  :  "  I've 
done  no  evil,"  and  it  is  not  for  you  or  me  to  say  she  has. 

About  one  thing  there  could  be  no  question,  and  that  was. 
Miss  Buttercup's  loveliness.  She  was  enravishing ;  and  when 
she  took  Claude  Walsingham's  arm  to  escort  him  back  to  the 
table,  he  realized  at  once  how  powerless  he  would  be  in  the 
hands  of  such  a  woman.    How,  like  a  poor  fly,  caught  in  the 


TOM  BURTON.  77 

meshes  of  a  spider's  web,  he  miglit  struggle  in  vain  to  escape 
the  toils. 

But,  to  him,  how  little  like  the  fly-catchei's  machinations 
were  the  sweet  influences  of  the  delightful  charmer.  There 
could  be  no  danger  in  yielding  to  such  an  innocent  enthrall- 
ment.  There  was  no  design  on  her  part.  She  was  influenced 
by  the  same  feelings.  He  was  young.,  handsome  and  engag- 
ing. He  was  the  favorite.  She  lavished  all  her  meaning 
smiles  on  him.  He  began  to  feel  vain.  Her  advances  met 
his  egotism ;  her  condescension  flattered  him.  The  road  to 
her  favor  lay  wide  open  before  him.  Whatever  she  was — 
and  God  knows  she  was  sweet — all,  all  might  be  his.  He  was 
far  away  from  home,  and  from  the  one  he  had  vowed  to  live 
for ;  not  so  far  when  measured  by  distance  as  b}'  time  and 
circumstances.  But  years  might  elapse  before  he  again  set 
foot  on  the  Eastern  Shore ;  and  all  the  heart  of  a  young  and 
passionate  man  could  wish  for  was  within  his  grasp..  Led 
by  the  apotheosis  of  their  darling  cause,  the  sons  of  Mars 
surrounded  the  board  of  Bacchus,  Major  Eevel  Evans  the 
foremost  in  the  van.     The  glasses  were  filled. 

"  A  toast !  A  toast ! "  was  echoed  from  lip  to  lip.  ''A  toast 
from  INIajor  Evans !  " 

Claude  was  fearful  that  his  old  friend,  already  elated  by 
the  fumes  of  the  rich  grog,  would  say  something  to  disgust 
their  bountiful  hostess,  and,  by  signs  and  winks,  tried  to  in- 
timate as  much,  but  his  efforts  were  lost  in  the  general  merri- 
ment. 

So  it  was  decided  the  major  should  lead  off.  In  the  hubbub 
that  worthy  had  drained  his  glass,  but  jMiss  Buttercup,  see- 
ing his  awkward  dilemma,  came  to  his  rescue,  saying  as  she 
did  so : 

"I  see.  Major,  what  the  trouble  is.  It's  the  case  of  the 
two  governors.  Let  me  fill  your  glass  again,  and  thus  shall 
you  receive  a  new  inspiration  to  aid  you  in  your  little 
speech." 

There  was  a  laugh  at  the  major's  expense,  and,  when  that 
subsided,  they  again  arose. 

"  Speech  !     Speech  !     IVIajor  Evans  ! '' 

The  old  man  spread  himself  into  a  sort  of  Colonel  Seller's 
position,  raised  his  glass  to  the  ceiling,  cleared  his  throat, 
and  began  : 

"  Here's  to  you.  Miss  Buttercup,  the  loveliest  lady  in  Dixie, 
whose  horsepertality  we  now  so  richly  re  joy  ;  and  to  you,  feller 
soldiers  ev  the  Southern  Confederacy.  ]May  the  stares  and  the 
bares  never  cease  ter  wave,  and  hurrah  for  Bonegard  and  Jeff 
Davis ! " 


7S  T6M  nvRTON: 

^'  Bravo,  bravo  ! " 

The  glasses  were  emptied  and  refilled. 

"A  song!     A  song  !  " 

Captain  Evans  was  again  to  the  front,  waving  his  bumper. 
The  Major  kept  time  to  the  following  words,  which  he  sang 
with  a  swagger : 

"  "Wrap  me  up  in  the  rebel  flag, 
Bury  me  near  Jeff  Davis  ; 
Give  my  love  to  Bonegard 
And  all  the  Secesh  ladies." 

Another,  and  still  another,  toast  by  different  gentlemen 
followed,  until  the  eggnog  grew  turbid  in  the  bottom  of  the 
bowl,  and  the  glowing  faces  attested  the  warmth  of  Miss 
Buttercup's  hospitality.  Then,  cake  was  handed.  "  Lorena." 
"A  life  on  the  ocean  wave."  "The  bonny  blue  flag." 
"  Dixie,"  and  "  Thy  bright  smile  haunts  me  still,"  were 
rendered  with  an  accompaniment,  and  the  party  began  to 
show  signs  of  dismemberment. 

"  You  will  remain  and  play  me  a  game  of  cribbage.  Captain 
Walsingham?" 

The  request  was  made  in  a  sweet,  persuasive  tone.  How 
could  he  refuse  ? 

It  was  an  easy  matter  to  dodge  the  crowd,  and,  while  his 
belated  companions  were  staggering  down  the  street,  Claude 
was  locked  in  with  the  voluptuous  woman. 

Claude's  experience  with  women  had  been  of  rather  a  nega- 
tive character.  The  conventionalities  of  society,  such  as  exists 
in  the  best  circles  in  rural  districts  in  Virginia — in  fact  in 
cities  as  well,  among  the  same  class — forbade  an}^  such  famili- 
arity on  short  acquaintance  as  he  was  now  so  fortunate  as  to 
enjoy  with  the  lovely  Miss  Buttercup.  At  first  he  was 
stunned  by  even  an  imperfect  realization  of  his  good  fortune, 
and  felt  as  if  he  was  unequal  to  the  task  his  good  luck  had 
imposed  upon  him.  He  could  neither  play  his  cards  nor 
count  his  game.  They  sat  at  the  side  of  card-table  in  the 
back  parlor,  the  gas  in  the  front  parlor  turned  off,  and  only 
one  jet  burning  in  the  chandelier  overhead,  the  soft  light 
from  the  open  grate  falling  on  the  carpet  in  subdued  and 
mellow  rays.  Claude  seemed  to  be  in  the  midst  of  heaven 
without  the  ability  to  enjoy  its  privileges.  The  excitement 
of  his  embarrassed  situation  had  overcome  the  effects  of  the 
eggnog. 

"  My  dear  Captain,  are  you  unwell,"  inquired  his  com- 
panion, with  solicitude. 


TOM  BURTON,  70 

"  By  no  means,  my  dear  Miss  Buttercup.  Only  the  egg- 
nog  has  slightly  nauseated  me.'' 

'^  Will  you  take  some  brandy  ?  " 

Claude  assented.  Again  they  sat  down  to  the  card-table. 
He  felt  stronger.  The  now  languid  eyes  of  the  siren,  the 
passion- wreathed  mouth,  the  heaving  bosom,  as  soft  and  white 
as  eider-down,  but  as  real  as  flesh  and  blood  could  make  it, 
no  longer  dismayed  but  stimulated  him. 

The  mountain  of  loveliness  which  rose  before  him  expanded 
with  his  enlarged  faculties  ;  but  the  will  to  ascend  even  to 
its  summit  grew  also. 

They  played.  Their  hands  touched.  The  shy  and  shapely 
foot  in  white  satin  like  a  timid  mouse  after  the  feast,  crej)t 
out  and  half  buried  itself  in  the  soft  Persian  rug. 

"Fifteen  two,"  " fifteen  four,"  "a  pair,"  "a  flush,"  ^"^  a 
straight,"    "  a  go." 

"  It's    your  deal." 

"  No,  it's  mine." 

They  laugh  at  each  other's  stupidity ;  they  talk  foolish 
talk  about  the  game  ;  a  card  falls  on  the  floor  ;  both  stoop  to 
pick  it  up  ;  their  faces  meet.  The  luxuriant  locks  of  Claude 
brush  the  cheek  of  the  lovely  woman.  Their  faces  burn, 
Claude's  heart  beats  against  his  bosom  as  if  it  would  leap  its 
barriers.  Once  more  he  cannot  count  the  game,  but  he 
counts  her  pretty  tapering  fingers,  shoves  back  the  cribbage 
board  and  cards,  leans  his  elbow  on  the  table  awhile  and 
moves  his  chair  forward  until  his  feet  are  now  behind  and 
beyond  her  seat,  between  it  and  the  table.  The  folds  of  her 
gorgeous  dress  are  mingled  with  the  gray  of  his  uniform. 

Gently,  as  if  moved  by  a  spirit  hand,  the  table  recedes 
toward  the  middle  of  the  floor.  By  some  hocus-pocus  ma- 
neuver their  chairs  advance,  they  now  are  side  by  side^  his 
arm,  with  its  glittering  gold  lace,  encircles  her  peerless  waist 
and  her  head  falls  confidingly  upon  his  breast. 

Pressing  his  lips  to  hers,  he   whispers. 

"  Darling  ; "  but  she,  with  eyes  like  Artesian  wells  of  in- 
exhaustible love,  speaks  only  in  the  tightened  grasp  of  the 
hand  which  her  womanly  instinct  had  impelled  her  to  seize 
for  another  purpose  than  to  press  it  closer  still  to  her  throb- 
bing bosom. 

Shall  I  go  on,  reader  ?  shall  I  tell  you  how  in  one  short 
week  Kate  Moore  was  forgotten,  pledges  forfeited,  vows 
broken,  manhood  lost  ? 

Ah,  no  !  it  is  useless.  You  know  it  all.  Alas  for  that  game 
of  cribbage  | 


80  TOM  BURTON. 

It  was  snowing  when  Claude  left  between  the  small  hours 
of  that  winter  night  to  seek  his  boarding-house.  The 
keen  air  felt  good  to  his  hot  and  burning  cheek. 

It  is  said  that  people  change  their  skies,  but  not  their 
hearts,  when  they  cross  the  seas. 

Claude  Walsingham  had  done  both. 


CHAPTEK  IX. 

A  TREATY    OFFEXSIYE  AXD  DEFENSIVE. 

Before  the  reader  can  be  permitted  to  follow  Claude  further 
in  his  erratic  course,  it  is  proper  for  us  to  go  back  awhile  to 
the  Eastern  Shore  and  look  after  Colonel  Tom  Burton  and 
his  protesting  captive. 

Kate  Moore  was  a  defiant  rebel,  but  she  was  not  an  ill- 
bred  or  unlovable  woman.  On  the  other  hand,  she  was  not 
only  intellectual,  refined  and  gentle,  but  in  every  aspect  a 
person  of  rare  beauty,  fully  matured  and  in  complete  com- 
mand of  herself,  there  could  be  no  more  pleasant  a  companion 
where  reciprocity  of  feeling  made  a  free  interchange  of  ideas 
agreeable  and  pleasant. 

No  woman  ha<l  more  respect  for  truth  and  honor   than  she. 

If  she  had  given  her  heart  to  Claude  AValsingham  it  was 
his  without  reserve,  and  his  forever,  so  long  as  he  deserved 
it,  but  no  longer.  She  was  not  one  to  love  so  well  as  to  love 
unwisely ;  not  that  she  was  incapable  of  realizing  the  tender 
sentiment  in  all  its  fullness,  or  that  she  lacked  any  constitu- 
ent which  a  perfect  woman  should  possess  ;  but  her  education 
had  been  such  that  she  had  learned  to  control  her  impulses, 
restrain  her  instincts  and  manage  herself  without  compromis- 
ing her  sex  or  her  dignity.  In  this  M'ay  she  had  accepted 
Claude.  Not  in  the  extravagant  outburst  of  a  romantic 
gush,  but  in  the  sober  and  restrained  manner  of  a  well-bred 
woman. 

In  Virginia  first  families,  matches  are  made  as  much,  if 
not  more,  for  convenience  tlian  love ;  and  experience  has 
shown  that  such  marriages  are  generally  more  conducive  to 
happiness  than  the  other  kind.  If  the  reader  M'ill  stop  right 
here  and  think  of  all  the  unions  that  have  come  under  his 
notice,  which  have  been  brought  about  by  clandestine 
methods,  he  will  be  surprised  at  the  very  small  number  of 
them    that    have  been   productive  of   real    happiness.     Kate 


TOM  BURTON.  81 

Moore  was  capable  of  marrying  even  without  love,  and 
still  making  a  true  and  affectionate  wife.  This  may 
appear  to  be  a  paradox,  but  is  truth  nevertheless.  If  it 
were  possible  that  the  seal  of  her  heart  were  still  unbroken — 
if  her  feeling  for  Claude  were  simply  that  of  respect,  if  the 
great  depths  of  her  soul  had  never  yet  been  stirred  up  from 
the  bottom,  she  could  still  marry  Claude  and  be  a  good  wife, 
and  never  know  any  other  sentiment  except  a  deepening  of 
that  she  already  felt.  If  Claude  had  only  entered  the  outer 
courts  of  Love's  sacred  temple,  there  lived  no  other  mortal 
who  could  ever  profane  the  holy  of  holies,  by  an  unhallowed 
intrusion  while  he  was  her  acknowledged  high  priest.  They 
had  both  felt  more  at  parting  than  is  ordinarily  the  case  when 
friends  separate ;  although  both  were  sustained  by  ulterior 
sentiments — he  b}' the  allurements  held  out  to  him  of  military 
glory,  and  she  by  the  great  sacrifice  she  was  making  for  the 
cause  nearest  her  heart.  How  capable  their  attachment  was 
to  withstand  the  tests  of  adversity  or  the  temptations  of  life 
is  yet  to  be  seen. 

Now  he  was  in  Norfolk,  staggering  to  his  boarding-house, 
his  very  gloves  tainted  with  the  odor  of  unfaithfulness,  and 
she  riding  homeward  side  by  side  with  Tom  Burton  the 
Abolitionist,  and  on  the  back  of  his  horse  on  whose  hip  was 
branded  the  hateful  letters  :  U.  S. 

But  Kate  Moore  was  still  Claude's  and  Dixie's,  she  had  not 
surrendered  anything  but  to  convenience  and  necessity.  She 
was  sure  of  this.  If  she  had  parted  with  a  single  principle 
it  was  only  because  she  could  not  help  it. 

Even  while  Colonel  Burton  was  adjusting  her  narrow  foot 
into  the  large  stirrup  of  his  Mexican  saddle  and  adjusting 
her  dress,  she  was  all  the  time  biting  her  lip,  and  making 
reservations,  reserving  rights  she  would  never  surrender. 

^'  I  very  much  dislike  to  make  a  Union  cavalry  officer  out 
of  you,  Miss  Moore.  There,  I  expect  Ben  will  carry  you 
safely,  if  you  are  a  rebel,  my  saddle's  not  made  for  an  eques- 
trienne, but  must  suffice  for  want  of  a  better.  Now,  Miss 
Bose,  you  have  been  chasing  your  shadow  for  a  mile"  or  two, 
and  have  no  doubt  dulled  your  wiry  edge  to  some  extent.  I 
will  just  lay  my  overcoat  on  your  back  and  see  how  you  like 
the  change  from  3'our  master's  buggy,  to  the  position  of  a 
war-horse,"  so  he  rattled  away  as  he  busily  prepared  his  charge 
and  himself,  for  the  journey  before  them. 

"  You  may  depend.  Colonel  Burton,  my  aversion  to  being 
improvised  into  such  a  person  is  so  intense,  that  it  is  to  me 
the  greatest  humiliation  of  my  whole  life.  Next  to  death  it- 
self I  can  conceive  of  nothing  worse.'' 


82  TOM  BURTON. 

"  Keally  Miss,  are  you  speaking  in  irony,  or  in  dead  earn- 
est ?  " 

''  Most  positively,  sir,  in  dead  earnest." 

"  Candidly,  Miss  Burton,  do  you  love  anybody  or  anything  ? 
To  hear  you  go  on,  one  would  think  you  are  perfectly  indif- 
ferent to  every  body  and  every  thing." 

"  Yes,  I  love,  first,  my  country,  next,  my  friends  ;  my  coun- 
try and  her  institutions — my  friends  and  liberty." 

"And  slavery  into  the  bargain.'' 

''  Yes,  I  do  love  slavery,  and  so  dearly,  tluit  if  the  South  is 
conquered  and  slavery  abolished  I  want  to  die." 

"  Then,  I'm  afraid,  jNIiss,  your  stay  with  us  is  not  for  any 
great  length  of  time.  Two  or  three  years,  at  most,  will  settle 
the  matter  once  and   for  all.     And  suppose,  for  argument's 

"  And  suppose,  for  argument's  sake,^youdo  overrun  us  with 
your  hordes  of  vandal  soldiers  ?  AVhat  then  ?  Do  you 
think  for  a  moment  we  shall  remain  subdued  ?  Was  ever  a 
people  enslaved  who,  having  right  and  justice  on  their  side, 
strike  for  freedom  ? 

"  A  caged  bird  elicits  some  sympathy-.  AVhat  monster  would 
enslave  a  human  being  who  pants  for  liberty  ?  No,  Colonel 
Burton,  we  shall  yet  be  free.  AVe  shall  triumph  in  the  end. 
You  will  soon  have  to  leave  this  shore,  and  then — " 

"  You  seem  to  argue  tolerably  well  from  your  stand-point, 
Miss  Moore,  but  blindness  in  part  has  shut  out  from  your 
mental  understanding  much  that  is  valuable  to  a  correct 
elucidation  of  the  subject  under  consideration.  You  know 
the  old  maxim,  '  whom  the  gods  wish  to  destroy  they  first 
make  mad.'  To  us  who  reason  from  different  premises,  you 
Southern  people  seem  to  look  through  a  glass  darkly.  In  the 
first  place,  your  notions  of  liberty  are  crude — circumscribed ; 
and  amount  if  anything  to  selfishness.  You  want  liberty, 
but  you  want  it  only  for  yourselves.  In  the  next  place,  you 
have  no  just  cause  to  secede  from  a  Union  that  is  as  consid- 
erate of  your  rights  as  of  any  other  part  of  the  comj^onent 
whole.  Xobody  has  tried  or  wants  to  oppress  you.  If  you 
are  assailed  by  anything,  it  is  that  spirit  of  progress  and 
sense  of  justice  which  is  abroad  in  the  civilized  world  and 
which  will  brook  no  opposition.  It  is  a  hard  thing  to  kick 
against  the  pricks.  How  futile  to  fight  against  destiny, 
against  God  Almighty  !  Why  hold  on  to  effete  and  worn  out 
institutions  ?  We  love  the  bodies  of  our  friends,  but  put  them 
out  of  sight  when  they  die.  Why  cling  to  a  reeking  wrong 
whose  stench  offends  even  the  civilization  of  the  Old  World. 
You  people  appeal  to  God  for  the  justness  of  your  cause  and 
have  faith  that  He  will  deliver  you.  So  fijmly  am  I  convinced 


rOM  IWETON,  83 

tliat  you  are  wrong,  that  if  you  succeed  and  build  up  your 
new  government  upon  the  principles  of  slavery,  I  will  be- 
lieve no  more  in  right,  will  hope  no  more  in  God,  but  go  back 
and  serve  the  devil  as  I  used  to." 

"  Well,  well,"  Miss  Moore  replied,  petutantly,  "  let's  say  no 
more  about  it.  You  think  one  thing,  I  another.  Time  will 
prove  all  things,  and  if  your  future  (forgive  me  if  I  speak 
plainly),  is  no  more  remunerative  than  your  past,  you  will  not 
amount  to  much." 

''  I  accept  3'our  sarcastic  reproof.  Miss  Moore,  in  good  part. 
I  have  been  anything  but  a  good  citizen,  especially  to  myself ; 
but  all  that  is  past  now.  My  redemption  came  with  your 
downfall.  What  has  made  me,  will  crush  you.  It  was  not 
possible  for  me  to  rise  up  to  j^our  height  until  you  were  de- 
posed. Every  dog  has  his  day.  Tom  Burton  the  Abolition- 
ist  is  on  the  upward.  Miss  Kate  Moore  the  downward  road. 
Come,  let  us  ride  faster^  the  evening  is  coming  on  and  we 
shall  be  late." 

The  officer  rode  up  close  to  his  companion,  patted  the  neck 
of  her  horse  and  gave  the  command,  '•'  Gallop,  Ben  !  "  and  in  a 
moment  the  noble  steed  was  loping  along  at  a  ten-mile  gait 
under  the  light,  graceful  figure  of  his  new  rider,  while  the 
fretful  filly,  not  entirely  recovered  from  her  late  scare,  evinced 
a  metal  equal  to  that  of  her  young  mistress,  and  was  almost 
as  hard  to  control. 

Their  journey  lay  through  a  flat  but  rather  picturesque 
countrj',  varied  alternatively  by  forest  and  field.  The  latter 
were  cropless  and  dreary,  but  the  former  was  peculiarly  sweet 
with  the  odor  of  dying  leaves,  many  of  which  still  retained 
their  rich  tints  of  red,  yellow  and  purple.  Some  strewed 
along  the  bridle-path,  others  falling  to  the  ground,  and  a  few 
yet  shivering  on  the  almost  denuded  boughs. 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  Kate  could  restrain  her  tears  as 
she  rode  along  the  old  familiar  highway.  That  very  morn- 
ing she  had  passed  that  same  way  with  her  father.  He  was 
a  prisoner  now,  and  she  felt  almost  heart-broken.  The  som- 
bre sky,  the  fully  satisfying  atmosphere,  the  subdued  manner 
of  the  little  sparrows,  no  longer  chattering  in  the  exuberance 
of  spring-time — even  the  sound  of  the  heavily  ironed  hoofs 
of  her  charger  sent  a  painful  echo  to  her  soul.  Beneath  her 
with  his  sinewy  limbs,  she  thought,  and  his  neck  clad  in 
thunder,  was  the  war-horse  that  had  come  bearing  the  ruth- 
less invader,  who  was  subjugating  her  fair  land,  and  she  was 
his  master's  captive,  in  his  power  and  at  his  disposal.  He  the 
hated  Unionist,  the  despised  renegade,  the  white-livered 
Abolitionist. 


84  TOM  BURTON, 

It  had  scarcely  been  ten  days  since  Claude's  departure,  and 
it  seemed  to  her  that  sturdy  events  of  years  had  taken  place. 
As  she  approached  her  loved  home  the  thought  of  meeting  her 
mother,  the  task  of  disclosing  to  her  the  fate  of  her  father, 
and  the  sight  of  herself,  accompanied  by  a  Federal  officer, 
were  sources  enough  for  unpleasant  reflections. 

Her  companion  anticipated  her  thoughts,  and  did  all  in  his 
power  to  alleviate  her  condition. 

"  Cheer  up,  Miss  Moore  ;  this  matter  will  all  blow  over  in  a 
little  while,  and  you  will  get  your  father  back  all  safe  and 
sound.  In  a  month  or  two  you  will  become  reconciled  to  us, 
and  all  will  be  serene." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  replied,  bitterly  ;  "  so  it  will,  when  we  all 
become  loyal  and  take  your  horrid  oath.  But  we  will  never 
do  that,  sir ;  no,  never.  Your  words  of  comfort,  if  based  on 
such  an  hypothesis  as  that,  were  better  unsaid ;  and  your 
good  wishes  simply  gratuitous  and  ineffective.  This  is  our 
gate,  sir." 

The  day  was  gone.  That  is,  the  sun  was  set  and  twilight 
deepening.  With  the  toe  of  his  boot  Colonel  Burton  raised 
the  gate-latch,  and  they  rode  through  into  a  long  and  spacious 
lawn,  in  which  were  the  remains  of  two  avenues  of  Lombardy 
poplars,  one  on  either  side  of  the  road.  ]\Iany  of  them  were 
in  decay,  and  all  were  bare  and  unattractive.  Through  the 
skeleton  tops  of  these  trees  could  be  seen  the  dormers  and 
roof  of  the  old  mansion,  and,  as  they  approached  nearer,  the 
glazed  brick  of  which  it  was  built  bore  testimony  to  the  fact 
that  at  least  two  centuries  had  passed  since  they  were  made 
across  the  sea.  An  ample  portico  of  more  modern  construc- 
tion adorned  the  front  of  the  building.  At  the  stepping- 
stone  at  the  door,  the  two  travelers  alighted  in  the  presence 
of  a  decrepit  old  negro  man,  who  came  up  and  grasped  the 
rein  of  his  mistress's  horse,  while  he  never  ceased  to  regard 
the  stranger  with  a  curiosity  that  was  amusing. 

As  Miss  Moore  alighted,  which  she  did  without  giving  her 
companion  an  opportunity  of  handing  her  down,  a  large  Xew- 
foundland  dog  ran  to  her,  leaping  upon,  her,  and  licking  her 
hand.  Without  acknowledging  his  caress  she  accosted  the 
old  negro  : 

"  Where  is  Isaac,  Daniel  ?  " 

"Done  gone,  missus." 

"Gone  where?" 

"  To  de  Yankees,  missus." 

"And  Jim?" 

"He  done  gone  too" 


TOM  BURTON.  85 

"And  Caleb?" 
"  He  likewise,  missus." 
"  And  Cato  and  Kier,  and — " 

"All  dem  done  gone,  missus.  All  de  niggers  done  gone 
'cept  ole  Dan'l,  bof  men,  women  and  childuns." 

''  Why  didn't  you  go  also,  Dan  ?  "  asked  Colonel  Burton, 
in  a  sort  of  bantering  manner. 

"Case  Dan'l  too  old.  Dan' el  tinks  he  better  stay  take 
care  ole  missus  and  young  missus." 

"  Well,  take  these  horses  and  put  them  up  and  feed  them. 
Please  walk  into  the  house.  Colonel  Burton."  She  said  this 
in  a  cold,  but  polite  way. 

They  entered  a  large  hall,  in  which  was  a  sideboard  loaded 
with  divers  kinds  of  glass  and  china-ware,  both  antique  and 
modern,  and  over  it  hung  the  broad  antlers  of  a  noble  buck. 
Sporting  pictures  adorned  the  walls,  and  a  rifle  was  slung  in 
a  rack,  with  powder-flask  and  shot-pouch.  At  the  further  end 
stood  a  tall  clock,  reaching  almost  to  the  ceiling.  It  was 
ticking  monotonously,  and  kept  not  only  the  hour,  but  lunar 
time,  the  day  of  the  week  and  month.  There  was  no  super- 
abundance of  furniture  in  view,  or  ceremony  in  the  manner 
of  Miss  Moore  as  she  ushered  her  guest  into  the  large  wain- 
scoted parlor,  with  its  lofty  ceiling,  its  exquisitely  carved 
mantelpiece  and  artistic  panels.  A  suit  of  modern  furniture, 
Brussels  carpet,  some  divans  of  older  style,  a  couple  of  easy 
chairs  and  an  ottoman,  composed  the  paraphernalia  of  the 
room,  if  we  add  several  life-size  busts  of  the  family  in  oil, 
which  adorned  the  walls. 

"  Please  be  seated,  sir.  After  I  have  made  my  mother  ac- 
quainted with  the  sad  affair  at  the  village,  I  will  return." 
So  saying,  she  left  the  colonel  alone,  in  the  big  parlor,  with 
his  thoughts. 

"Alas  !  such  is  war,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I'm  sorry  for  the 
poor  girl  and  her  mother."  Old  Daniel  came  stumbling  in 
with  his  arms  full  of  wood  and  kindling ;  removed  the  bright 
fender,  and,  on  his  knees,  soon  made  a  roaring  fire,  M'hose 
cheerful  blaze  and  comfortable  w^armth  diffused  a  comfort- 
ableness, that  was  truly  grateful. 

"What  vandals  we  Union  people  are,"  went  on  thinking 
Colonel  Burton,  "If  we  were  not  absolutely  certain  that 
underneath  this  classic  civilization,  there  coils  a  venomous 
serpent,  whose  sting  is  death  to  all  progress,  it  were  impos- 
sible to  find  an  excuse  for  destroying  their  institution,  and 
breaking  up  their  long  established  usages.  What  a  splendid 
but  misguided  woman  that  Miss  Kate  is.     The  love  of  such 


86  TOM  BURTON. 

a  creature,  to  a  man  who  could  appreciate  her,  would  he  a 
greater  blessing  than  mines  of  gold.  What  a  fool  was  Claude 
Walsingham  to  leave  such  a  treasure  for  the  empty  bauble  of 
military  fame,  which  is  destined  to  burst  in  a  shower  of  mis- 
fortunes upon  his  head,  and  leave  him  poorer  than  Lazarus. 
I  wonder  if  she  really  loves  him  ?  and  if  he  shall  find  faith 
in  her,  when  he  does  return  with  a  wooden  leg,  or  an  em2)ty 
sleeve,  or  an  open  wound  for  her  to  nurse  for  life.  But  hark, 
she  is  coming." 

"  How  did  your  mother  take  the  news,  and  is  she  comfort- 
able ?  "  he  asked  of  Miss  Moore,  for  he  had  thought  he  heard 
the  sound  of  weeping  in  the  house. 

"  Mother  is  a  true  Southerner,  sir,  she  was  alarmed,  and 
greatly  shocked  at  first,  but  is  quiet  and  resigned  now. 
She  told  me  to  tell  you  that  she  is  surprised  that  you 
should  have  sold  yourself  to  the  Northerners.  She  used  to 
know  your  mother,  and  thought  a  great  deal  of  her.  She  has 
not  been  strong  for  a  long  while,  and  I  feared  the  shock 
would  make  her  sick,  but  she  bears  it  better  than  I  imagined. 
What  is  it,  sir,  we  cannot  bear,  for  the  sake  of  our  dear 
country  ?  " 

"  This  has  been  an  eventful  day  for  you,  Miss  Moore,  and 
you  must  have  a  pretty  strong  nerve  to  stand  up  to  it,"  said 
Colonel  Burton  evasively. 

''  Ay,  even  beyond  my  calculations,  sir.  Our  colored  people 
are  all  gone  from  us.  That  was  M'hat  papa  went  up  to  see 
your  tyrannical  general  about.  I  wish  now  that  he  had  staid 
at  home,  as  it  all  did  no  good.  !N^ow,  then,  it  only  remains 
for  me  to  know  what  disposition  you  will  make  of  us,  before 
our  cup  of  misery  will  be  full." 

"  I  beg  leave  to  assure  you,  Miss  Moore,  I  have  no  dispo- 
sition to  be  exacting ;  indeed  I  have  no  authority  to  make  any. 
Instead  of  your  being  my  captive,  I  am  your  prisoner  to- 
night, and  a  pensioner  on  your  hospitality.  Let  me, 
speaking  candidly,  also  assure  3'ou  that  so  far  as  in  me 
is,  I  shall  endeavor  to  render  you  such  protection  as  lies  in 
my  power  at  all  times.  1  fully  estimate  your  unfortunate 
situation,  and  no  one  could  deplore  more  than  I  do,  the  cir- 
cumstances which  compel  me  to  be  a  participant  in  the 
affairs  of  this  day.  Feeling  how  you  hate  me,  I  do  not  blame 
you,  nor  do  I  require  you  to  dissemble  in  the  least  your  true 
sentiments.  Nothing  you  shall  do  or  saj^,  shall  have  any  bear- 
ing upon  my  conduct  toward  you,  which  shall  be  only  that  of 
a  stranger,  and  a  gentleman." 

Such  an  expression  of  noble  generosity  touched  the  proud 
girl,  and  she  was  silent  and  reflective.     Finally  she  said : 


TOM  BURTON.  87 

"  Well,  well,  I  know  of  but  one  course  for  us  to  pursue, 
Colonel,  and  that  is  to  make  a  treaty  offensive  and  defensive, 
the  terms  of  which  we  shall  discuss  to-morrow.  After  so  long 
a  ride  on  your  indifferent  saddle,  I  am  sure  you  will  find 
repose  agreeable.  We  will  first  repair  to  the  dining-room, 
where  I  have  prepared  the  tea,  and  after  supper  you  may  re- 
tire, if  3^ou  can  afford  to  trust  your  precious  Union  body  under 
the  roof  of  a  rebel. 

"Being  a  prisoner  of  yours,  and  subject  to  your  orders,  I 
have  no  other  wish  but  to  obey  you,"  and  so  saying  he  followed 
her  to  the  dining-room. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  CONDITION  OF  QUASI-FRIENDSHIP  ESTABLISHED. 

"  What  is  it,  Colonel  Burton,  that  Shakespeare  says  makes 
cowards  of  us  all  ?  "  remarked  Kate  Moore,  as  she  and  her 
guest  reentered  the  parlor  after  tea,  and  just  prior  to  his  de- 
parture for  his  room  that  night,  at  Moorefield.  Evidently 
she  was  feeling  better,  for  her  tone  was  more  cheerful,  and 
she  evinced  a  disposition  to  chat  a  while  before  retiring. 

"  I  think  it  is  conscience.  Miss." 

"  Yes.  I  had  forgotten,  and  it  ran  in  my  head  it  was  mis- 
fortune." 

"  Why  did  you  ask ;  and  what  relation  does  it  bear  upon 
the  present  state  of  affairs.  Miss  Moore  ?  "  inquired  the  Col- 
onel, whose  weariness  did  not  dissuade  him  from  leading  her 
off  into  a  protracted  conversation. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  sir ;  only  I  was  thinking  how  cowardly  I  was 
growing,  and  was  asking  myself  the  cause." 

"Then  it  might  have  been  your  conscience,  sure  enough. 
Miss,  since  your  sins  have  been  without  number,  this  after- 
noon," laughed  the  Colonel.  "  But  you  need  not  feel  at  all 
repentant,  for  I  have  forgiven  you  long  ago." 

"  Well,  whether  it  is  conscience  or  misfortune,  it  doesn't 
matter.  I  am  just  going  to  make  a  convenience  of  you,  Col- 
onel Burton,  and  I  want  you  to  distinctly  understand  that  if 
I  seem  to  make  any  overtures,  or  soften  in  my  manner  toward 
you  in  the  least,  you  are  not  to  presume  upon  my  friendship." 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  intend  to  treat  me  as  you  do  your 
dog.  Pet  me  a  little,  but  keep  me  in  remembrance  that  I  am 
a  brute." 


SS  ,  TOM  BUBTON, 

''  Something  like  that,  ColoneL" 

"  You  are  a  candid  young  lady,  to  he  sure,  and  I  have  the 
advantage  of  having  to  fight  an  open  enemy  at  all  events." 

"  But  you  told  me  not  to  dissemble/' 

''  Go  on." 

"  You  understand,  sir,  that  since  your  kind  and  magnan- 
imous general  has  taken  our  father  first,  and  then  our  servants, 
we — mother  and  myself — are  almost  left  in  a  destitute  and  un- 
protected condition.  We  have  got  to  put  ourselves  under  your 
protection  or  remain  at  the  risk  of  being  misused  by  your 
soldiers,  or  murdered  and  robbed  by  the  negroes,  when  it  is 
learned  that  we  are  living  here  alone.  Such  a  proposition  is 
intolerable  to  us,  but  a  stern  necessity  which  cannot  be  ig- 
nored. The  only  question  is,  do  you  accept  the  responsibility 
or  do  you  scorn  the  subterfuge  ?  " 

"To  a  man.  Miss  Moore,  my  answer  would  be  a  gauntlet ; 
to  you  it  is  this :  I  can  easily  forgive  the  insult  of  a  proud 
woman  who  strikes  back  at  the  same  time  she  sues  for  pardon. 
It's  a  woman's  nature,  you  know,  never  to  surrender.  They 
alwa3^s  show  fight  to  the  last.  For  that  reason  I  will  obligate 
myself  to  become  your  protector,  until  such  time  as  you  cease 
to  need  my  services.  In  the  meantime,  it  would  be  very 
gratifying  to  me  to  have  you  regard  me  as  a  human  being, 
flesh  and  blood,  like  unto  your  own  father  or  brother.  A 
slight  difference  of  opinion  ought  not  to  make  such  a  wide 
social  gulf.  It  is  a  bad  omen,  for  any  cause,  when  its  vo- 
taries use  prejudice  instead  of  reason  in  attempting  to  sustain 
it.  Now,  laying  aside  all  otlier  matters.  Miss  Moore,  let  me 
feel  that  you  and  your  mother  are  trusting  to  my  honor  for 
protection,  and  I  swear  to  you  that  a  brother  could  not  be 
more  careful  of  you  than  I  will  be." 

"All  right.  Colonel,  so  far  so  good.  But  how  long  shall 
my  poor  father  have  to  languish  in  prison  ?  " 

"  Ah,  that  is  a  different  question.  Miss  Moore." 

"  But,  can  you  not  use  j-our  influence  in  his  behalf  ?  " 

"  As  far  as  it  will  go.  If  Colonel  Moore  will  only  use  a 
little  discretion,  he  will  be  at  liberty  in  a  few  days.  Of  course 
if  he  acts  like  a  crazy  man,  and  by  disloyal  conduct  keeps  the 
general  in  a  state  of  constant  irritation,  he  may  not  see 
Moorefield  for  a  long  time.  If  he  is  willing  to  come  home 
and  be  quiet,  I  can  obtain  his  release  for  you  in  less  than 
three  days  ;  meantime  I  will  keep  joii  posted  in  regard  to  his 
health  and  comfort,  and  see  that  he  is  properly  cared  for." 

"  For  once  I  thank  you,  sir,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart." 

That  settled,  she  again  resumed: 


TOM  BUnTOX.  ,C;() 

'^  Let  me  put  one  more  question  to  you.  Should  some 
of  our  soldier  boj's  run  over  to  see  us  some  of  these  nights, 
or  the  blockade  runners  come  up  here  in  the  creek  with  letters 
for  us,  would  you  be  hard  with  them,  Colonel  ?  " 

"  Not  if  I  didn't  catch  them,  Miss  Moore.  They  must 
keep  out  of  my  way." 

"  But  if  I  should  place  you  into  their  hands  and  they 
should  take  you  over  to  Richmond  and  hansr  you  as  a  rene- 
gade?" 

Colonel  Burton  laughed. 

'•  I  am  willing  to  trust  you.  Miss  Moore  as  to  the  betrayal, 
and  the  authorities  at  Richmond  as  to  the  hanging.  So  that 
matter  is  fixed.  My  only  danger,  I  must  tell  you,  lies  not 
in  that,  but  another  direction.  There  are  rebels  at  home, 
some  who  did  not  cross  over  into  Dixie,  whose  arrows,  like 
that  of  the  Trojan  hero,  might  strike  me  in  a  tender  spot. 
My  armor  may  be  Heph^stian  in  construction,  but  my 
heai;t,  like  Achilles'  heel,  is  by  no  means  invulnerable." 

But  Miss  Moore  was,  and  the  pleasant  sally  passed  by 
without  even  drawing  her  fire.     He  went  on  : 

"  I  am  sure  I  should  gain  even  the  respect  of  my  enemies, 
your  best  friends,  by  affording  you  protection.  If  Captain 
Walsingham  himself  were  here,  I  do  not  think  he  would 
take  opposite  grounds." 

"  I  should  fear  for  you  if  he  were.  I  think  there  is  some 
old  grudge  between  you.     Is  there  not  ?  " 

"  Really,  Miss,  we  will  not  speak  of  that  now." 

"  Your  sister  and  he  have  always  been  good  friends,"  she 
could  not  resist  saying. 

"I  think  so.  At  any  rate,  I  know  nothing  to  the  contrary," 
was  the  curt  reply.  "  Mary  is  almost  as  great  a  rebel  as  any 
of  you,"  he  added. 

"  And  it's  the  only  way  for  her  to  receive  and  merit  the 
confidence  and  esteem  of  the  best  people  of  the  country." 

*■'  Best  people  !  "  sarcastically  retorted  Colonel  Burton,  for 
the  first  time  forgetting  himself. 

"  When  this  little  unpleasantness  is  over,  I  do  hope  we 
shall  cease  to  hear  of  ^best  families  '  in  the  sense  it  is  used 
on  the  Eastern  Shore.  Do  you  know  old  Colonel  Polk, 
Miss  Moore  ?  " 

"  I  do,  sir." 

"You  call  him  one  of  the  best  families,  do  you  not  ?" 

"I  do." 

"  You  remember  how   rotund  and  pompous  he  looks  ?  " 

"Yes." 


90  TOM  BURTOX. 

*'  Now,  mark  me,  and  take  notice,  how  thin  and  poverty- 
stricken  he  will  appear  by  and  by,  when  his  negroes  are  all 
gone.  Dress  him  up  in  plain  fustian,  and  old  Jimmy  Tatum 
will  look  like  a  millionaire  by  the  side  of  him.  I  abhor  3'our 
first  faniilies  made  up  of  such  stuff.  I  think  we  had  better 
retire.*'  Miss  Moore's  face  was  very  red,  and  Colonel  Burton 
was  not  in  the  best  humor. 

"  One  word  more  before  you  go  to  bed,  Colonel,  and  that 
is  in  regard  to  our  treat3^  Instead  of  talking  of  it  to-morrow, 
as  we  have  sat  up  so  long,  we  might  as  well  finish  to-night.'' 

"Well,  proceed." 

"  It  is  this.  You  are  to  see  that  our  throats  are  not  cut, 
our  property  not  destroyed,  our  father  released,  and  if  any 
our  friends  are  caught  running  the  blockade — '' 

"  I  shall  certainly  not  permit  them  to  return.  But  have  we 
not  gone  over  that  ground  alread}^  ?  " 

"  Then  I  think  we  understand  each  other.  All  malice 
apart;  but  the  old  grudge  stands  good." 

"  Yes,  you  want  to  bind  me  to  a  woman's  bargain.  Miss 
Moore,  I  see.  Well,  I  suppose  you  must  have  your  own 
way.  To  your  good  sense,  I  leave  the  future  disposition  of 
your  affairs,  for  they  are  in  great  part  at  your  disposal." 

"I  shall  do  the  best  I  know  how,  Colonel,  but  everything 
is  so  new  and  strange  to  me,  I  scarcely  know  how  to  act." 

"  It  is  eminently  your  dut}^.  Miss,  to  conform  yourself  to 
the  new  condition  of  affairs  as  much  as  possible.  The  world 
is  constantly  moving  into  new  spheres,  and  its  inhabitants 
into  new  realms  of  thought.  You  must  look  ahead  and  keep 
up.  Never  mind  the  negroes  ;  let  them  take  care  of  themselves. 
You  need  not  become  a  martj-r.  You  may  shun  the  hem- 
lock, the  gibbet,  and  the  cross,  but  j^ou  may  at  least  be  poli- 
tic and  save  yourself  much  worry  of  mind,  and  perhaps  a 
great  deal  of  physical  and  mental  suffering.  When  the 
triumph  passes  by,  you  need  not  join  the  procession,  but  you 
certainly  can  keep  from  throwing  yourself  beneath  the 
wheels  of  the  conqueror's  car.  AVe  who  tread  the  stage  of 
action  to  day,  are  short-sighted  if  we  can  see  no  further  ahead 
than  the  few  years  of  the  immediate  present.  Out  of  the 
throes  of  this  national  strife  shall  come  forth  a  new  era  of 
prosperit}^ — a  quickening  of  the  countrj^'s  industries — the 
extent  of  which,  even  if  we  could  behold  only  a  tithe  of  its 
magnitude,  would  astonish  us.  Then  shall  all  animosity  be 
swallowed  up  in  amnesty  and  reconciliation,  and  you  and  I, 
so  long  separated  by  caste,  be  good  friends,  equal  in  respect- 
ability, if  equal  in  intellect  and  virtue,  and  the   world  forget 


TOM  BURTON.  91 

that  Tom  Burton  the  Abolitionist  was  once  despised  for  his 
politics  and  religion." 

"  My  goodness,  Colonel,  you  talk  like  a  preacher." 

My  father  was  a  local  preacher  you  know,  and  I  suppose  I 
am  at  last  taking  after  him." 

"  I  think  you  would  do  well  to  put  oif  that  uniform  and 
take  holy  orders.  It  would  become  you  much  better.  Once 
more  I  would  suggest  that  we  retire,  and  if  you  will  take  a 
glass  of  wine  with  me,  we  will,  for  the  present,  drink  friends." 

"  I  am  forsworn.  Never  again  will  a  drop  of  liquor,  of 
any  kind,  enter  my  mouth,  if  I  can  help  it.  Twice  in  my 
life,  to  drown  sorrow,  I  have  indulged ;  and  to-day  have  less 
to  find  fault  of  on  the  score  of  bad  treatment,  from  my  fellow- 
men,  than  injury  received  from  strong  drink.  When  the 
devil  tempts  men  to  oppress  their  fellows,  he  stands  by  with  a 
glass  of  rum,  to  stupefy  them  ;  not  that  he  may  relieve  them 
of  the  pain,  but  destroy  their  sensibility,  and  help  them  on  to 
their  ruin.  I  am  not  afraid  of  rebel  bullets,  but  from  rebel 
wine,  please  excuse  me." 

"  Then  your  fear  treachery  ?  " 

^'  By  no  means.  On  the  contrary,  if  I  should  meet  my  fate 
in  you,  I  could  compliment  myself  on  having  a  very  sweet 
executioner." 

"  Silence,  Coloneh  You  must  not  jest.  E-emember  you 
are  not  to  take  any  liberties.     There  must  be  no  familiarity." 

"  Indeed,  Miss,  it  is  only  a  soldier's  gallantry.  If  I  have 
offended,  I  beg  your  pardon.  You  may  listen  to  me  some  of 
these  fine  days." 

"  I  will  tell  you  when  that  may  be,  Colonel." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  When  the  South  is  conquered  and  all  her  brave  soldiers 
slain  ;  not  till  then." 

"  All  right.  Miss  Moore,  I  shall  bide  my  time,  and  upon 
that  issue  predicate  my  claim  to  your  condescension. 

^' We  shall  both  be  very  old." 

"  In  experience  I  doubt  not,  but  in  years  nothing  to  speak 
of.  Meanwhile,  as  we  have  had  rather  a  stormy  day  and  have 
put  into  it  much  more  than  we  expected,  let  us  to  bed  and 
dream  of  better  days  to  come.     Good-night." 

Colonel  Burton  retired.  He  found  a  comfortable  bed  well 
furnished  with  coverlets,  a  voluptuous  feather-bed,  and  sheets 
of  unblemished  whiteness.  Sleep  waited  not  to  be  wooed, 
nor  was  the  Union  officer  averse  to  her  caresses.  Stretching 
his  tired  limbs  at  full  length  upon  his  grateful  couch,  he 
passed  into  the  oblivion  of  calm  repose, 


92  TOM  BURTON, 

Meanwhile,  Kate  Moore,  almost  ready  to  succumb  to  tlie 
mental  and  physical  strain  occasioned  by  the  day's  excite- 
ment, was  preparing  to  follow  his  example,  when  alow  knock- 
ing at  the  back  door  of  the  house  arrested  her  attention. 
She  ran  down  stairs  as  quickly  as  possible,  having  recognized 
the  signal,  and  putting  her  lips  to  the  key-hole,  inquired: 

"  AVho  is  it  ?  " 

"  Captain  Evans,  ma'am,  with  a  billy  doo  for  Miss  Kate." 

"  Come  in,  but  don't  make  a  noise.  There  is  a  Union  officer 
upstairs.  When  did  you  arrive,  and  is  the  Captain  safe  and 
sound  in  Dixie  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am ;  he  are  as  happy  as  a  crab  at  high  water, 
havin'  lots  of  enjoyment  with  the  I^orfolk  ladies,  and  jest  a 
havin'  the  most  excellent  time  you  can  remagine.  Here  is  a 
letter  he  sent  j^ou." 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  Captain.  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  of 
your  safe  arrival.     I  suppose  Claude  is  happy  ?  " 

"  As  happy  as  a  man  can  well  be,  what  has  left  his  gal  be- 
hind.    Howsomever  there  is  no  lack  ev'  'em  over  thar." 

"  What  are  the  prospects.  Captain,  of  peace  ?  " 

"Werry  great,  ma'am,  werry  great.  France  and  England 
is  about  to  recognize  our  independence,  and  as  soon  as  that  is 
recomplished  it  will  all  be  over." 

"I'm  afraid  you  left  in  a  hurry.  The  Captain's  letter  is 
very  short  and  quite  unsatisfactory^,"  said  Miss  Moore,  as  she 
finished  reading  the  note  Captain  Evans  had  handed  her. 
Her  unsatisfied  look  put  the  old  salt  on  his  guard. 

"  Oh,  he  war  werry  busy,  ma'am.  You  must  not  jedge  him 
too  sewerely.  And  I  did  repart  rather  unceremoniously  like. 
Don't  doubt  him.  Miss,  he  are  as  true  as  the  North  Stair." 

"  When  do  you  return.  Captain  ?  " 

"  To-morry  night,  ma'am.     I  wish  it  war  to-night,  ma'am." 

"AVhy  to-night?" 

"  Because  I  wouldn't  mind  takin'  that  Y'ankee  you  spoke 
across  the  bay  with  we  uns.  He  would  make  dollars  in  my 
pocket,  ma'am,  and  a  right  smart  feather  in  my  cap,  eh  ?  " 

"But  I  couldn't  allow  you  to  take  him.  Captain.  Papa  is 
in  jail  and  the  negroes  are  all  gone  ;  so  we  need  this  man's 
services  just  now." 

"  So,  I  see.  I  know  as  how  we  uns  hev  to  do  things  in 
those  war  times  we  uns  don't  relish  much,  but  so  it  is.  I 
don't  suppose  it  will  mix  matters  too  much  fer  you  to  allow 
me  stay  with  you  uns ;  that  is,  ef  you  uns  can  recommodate 
me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,     Y^ou  may  go  up  to  the  back-room,  you  know  the 


TOM  BURTOX.  93 

way.  Don't  make  any  extra  noise.  If  he  should  discover 
you,  I  will  try  and  pass  you  off  for  a  neighbor.     You  see  ?  " 

"Never  mind  me,  ma'am.     I'm  used  to  sich  business. 

"  But  where  is  Sammy  ?  " 

"He  are  gone  to  his  mother's.  I'm  under  werry  many  ob- 
ligations to  you,  ma'am,  fer  your  horsepetality.  I  shall  be 
leavin'  werry  early  in  the  mornin,  and  expect  to  cross  over 
to-morry  night.  Should  you  hev  anything  to  send  the  Cap- 
tain, you  know  Mdiere  the  cunner  lies.  I  suppose  his  blue- 
coated  honor  will  hev  reparted  afore  that  time  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  will  go  in  the  forenoon.  You  may  expect  me 
at  the  landing.  Kow,  you  had  better  retire.  My  horse,  ran 
away  to-day,  poor  papa  got  locked  up,  and  things  have  gone 
wrong  generally.  I  am  almost  dead  with  weariness  and 
excitement.     Good-night." 

Kate  read  her  short  note  over  and  over  again.  It  was  so 
unlike  Claude — so  cold  and  formal  that  she,  weak  and  run  down 
as  she  was,  could  not  resist  a  flood  of  hysterical  tears.  She 
threw  the  one  small  sheet  of  note-paper  into  the  fast  dying 
embers  on  the  hearth,  kissed  her  mother  who  was  sleeping 
soundly  and  went  to  bed,  never  so  unhappy  in  her  life 
and  never  so  hopeless. 


CHAPTEE  XI. 

THE  FATE  OF  MOOREFIELD. 

The  residence  of  Colonel  Moore,  the  scene  of  the  event  re- 
lated in  the  last  chapter  and  part  of  the  preceding  one,  was 
situated  on  the  west  side  of  the  peninsula  at  the  head  of  one 
of  the  many  creeks  which  flow  into  the  land  from  the  Chesa- 
peake. It  was  half  a  mile  removed  from  the  country  road, 
an  expansive  lawn  in  front,  with  the  negro  quarters  in  the 
immediate  rear ;  the  barns  and  out-buildings  in  rear  of 
those,  and  then  the  creek  between  which  and  the  buildings 
last  mentioned  was  a  thick  line  or  grove  of  pines  separated 
from  the  barn-3'ard  by  a  fence.  A  road  ran  from  the  rear  of 
the  house,  down  through  the  barn-yard  to  a  gate  which 
opened  into  the  thicket.  From  this  gate  a  dozen  paces  brought 
one  to  the  creek  where  there  was  a  deep  hole  and  a  landing- 
place  for  fishermen. 

The  next  morning  was  crisp,  clear,  and  bracing,  a  typical 
autumn  day,  not  actually  freezing,  but  what  might  be  termed 
rimy. 


94  TOM  BURTON. 

The  air,  the  steel-blue  sky,  the  fields  and  the  woods  all  com- 
bined to  make  up  a  landscape  intensely  Virginian.  The  sea- 
son was  not  unlike  its  predecessors,  nor  were  the  natural  ob- 
jects just  referred  to  ;  but  the  spirit  of  all  things  seemed  to 
be  new.  There  seemed  to  be  abroad,  in  this  fair  land,  some 
saddening  influence  which  seemed  to  presage  trouble  of  some 
sort,  and  nature,  though  clothed  in  her  accustomed  garb,  did 
not  give  back  that  reassuring  confidence  she  was  wont  to 
bestow  upon  her  children  in  the  days  that  were  no  more.  A 
dead  silence  painful  to  realize,  reigned  supreme.  There 
came  no  ring  of  the  woodman's  axe  from  the  thicket,  no 
bounding  echo  from  the  dense  forest  across  the  creek.  The 
hunter's  horn  which  on  such  mornings  used  to  quiver  on  the 
ambient  atmosphere,  woke  not  the  brakes  and  fens,  nor  did 
the  silvery  notes  of  the  bugle  or  the  deeper  bay  of  the  fox- 
hound resound  in  the  thick  wood.  Not  even  a  negro's  cheery 
voice  hymning  his  crude  ideas  in  his  cruder  song  could  be 
heard  on  the  big  plantation  ;  or  a  pickaninny's  outcry  about 
the  quarters.  No  lowing  cow  or  bleating  sheep  was  left  to 
give  animation  to  the  scene. 

One  lone  old  negro  man  hobbled  across  the  yard  at  Moore- 
field.  He  had  risen  early  and  fed  the  two  horses.  There  was 
nothing  else  to  feed.  The  runaways  had  stampeded  with 
everything  they  could  lay  their  hands  to,  and  Moorefield  w^as 
left  desolate. 

Colonel  Burton  arose  at  eight  o'clock,  and  while  waiting 
for  breakfast,  strolled  down  through  the  rear  houses  to 
the  thicket  gate.  The  grove  on  the  other  side  looked  in- 
viting, and  he  passed  through,  delighted  with  the  odor  of 
the  cedars  which  grew  plentifully  among  the  pines.  Follow- 
ing the  path,  he  came  to  the  landing,  and  stood  gazing  over 
into  the  water.  A  curious-looking  object  caught  his  eye.  He 
changed  his  position  and  took  a  more  careful  scrutiny,  dis- 
covering, to  his  astonishment,  a  canoe  sunk  in  the  bottom  of 
the  hole. 

"  Ah,  ha,"  says  he,  '•  blockaders !  I  shall  look  after  this 
traffic  a  little,  and  see  if  I  cannot  overhaul  some  of  these  fel- 
lows. It  may  pay  in  various  ways.  Besides,  it  will  furnish 
a  good  excuse  for  frequent  visits  to  Moorefield." 

Colonel  Burton  cast  his  eyes  around  through  the  wood.  A 
little  way  from  where  he  stood  was  a  mound-like  heap  of  pine 
straw,  piled  up  as  if  for  carting.  He  approached  it,  removing 
a  portion  of  the  shatters.  His  curiosity  was  rewarded  by  the 
finding  of  three  barrels  of  whisky,  a  number  of  packages  of 
yevrious  shapes  and  sizes^  and  several  mail  bags.     At  that 


To^r  BrRTOX.  95 

moment  he  lieard  the  old  negro  whistling  through  his  broken 
teeth,  near  the  gate.  Thinking  that  perhaps  the  old  fellow 
might  be  cognizant  of  the  doings  of  the  blockaders,  he  called 
him  and  interrogated  him  as  to  the  merchandise  and  the 
canoe.  The  look  of  surprise  depicted  on  the  negro's  face  con- 
vinced the  Colonel  tliat  Daniel  was  at  the  first  of  it. 

*'I  'specs  dat  whisky  and  dem  odder  tings  'long  to  de 
blockade  men.  Dey  is  berry  brief  in  dese  parts,  and  Itought 
I  hyeard  a  fuss  down  here  in  de  woods  las'  night.  Ef  I  had 
a  knowed  all  dis  good  whisky  had  a  been  lyin'  down  here  J. 
bet  Dan'l  'd  had  some  on  it  'fore  now." 

"  That's  all  right,  Daniel.  Now  I've  something  to  say  to 
3'ou.  I  have  to  go  up  to  head-quarters  this  morning.  You 
watch  this  stuff  until  I  come  back  and  you  shall  have  some  of 
the  whisky — yes,  a  whole  jug  full." 

"  Golly,  marster,  you  is  berry  kind.  But  'sposen  de  block 
aders  come  afore  you  do,  and  wants  to  take  de  stuff  ?  " 

"  I  shall  try  and  return  before  they  do.  In  that  case  you 
will  take  notice  of  all  they  do,  and  let  me  know  when  I  get 
back." 

"Yes,  marster,  dat  I  will,  case  I  wants  some  of  dis  good 
liquor.  I  knows  it's  good,  'cause  it  wouldn't  be  kivered  up 
in  this  manner  ef  it  warnt.  You  hurry  off,  Marster  Colonel, 
and  git  back  as  yearly  as  you  kin,  case  dem  blockade  men'll 
be  here  'fore  de  hen  go  to  roost,  sartin." 

''  That's  all  right,  Daniel.  Have  you  fed  and  groomed  my 
horse  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Marster  Colonel." 

"  Then  go,  put  the  bridle  and  saddle  on  him  at  once,  and 
see  that  you  tell  no  one  about  this  whisky." 

"  Yes,  Marster  Colonel.  You  may  'pend  on  Dan'l  ebbery 
time.  Dat  ar  whiskey  will  come  in  so  nice  fur  de  holidays," 
muttered  the  old  darkey  to  himself,  as  he  went  to  catch  the 
horse. 

Eeturning  to  the  mansion,  Colonel  Burton  took  his  break- 
fast with  the  little  family,  promising  to  return  in  the  after- 
noon and  bring  them  news  of  Colonel  Moore.  He  then  took 
the  reins  from  old  Daniel  and  prepared  to  mount  his  horse. 

"  Dat  am  a  good  boss,  Marster  Colonel.  Please,  sir,  gib  ole 
Dan'l  a  chaw  ob  tobacker  ?  " 

"  I  don't  use  it,  Daniel,  but  if  you  will  stay  around  here 
and  take  care  of  your  old  mistress  and  Miss  Kate,  cut  their 
wood  and  make  the  fires,  and  keep  an  eye  on  that  whisky 
out  there  in  the  woods,  I  will  fetch  you  a  pound  of  the  best 
chewing  tobacco  you  ever  tasted.     Do  you  hear?  " 


96  TOM  liunioy. 

"Dat  I  does,  Marster  Colonel,  and  I  jist  tell  you,  white 
folks  may  alius  'pend  on  me.  Dan'l  knows  whar  his  hread 
am  buttered,  and  case  de  white  folks  alius  take  kere  ob  Dan'l, 
he  gwine  to  take  kere  ob  dem.  Yes,  Marster  Colonel,  you 
may  surely  'pend  on  Dan'l.  When  you  gwine  to  send  ole 
marster  home,  sir  ?  " 

"  In  a  few  days,  I  hope.      Good-bye.'^ 

''  God  bless  yer,  Marster  Colonel,  make  a  hurry  an'  come 
back,  sir." 

As  the  day  j^assed  away  the  weather  grew  very  much  mild- 
er. The  afternoon  came  and  went,  but  Colonel  Burton  did 
not  return,  nothing  occurred  all  day  at  Moorefield  to  disturb 
the  quiet  which  had  come  over  it. 

A  full  moon  rose  into  a  cloudless  sky  at  evening,  and  every- 
thing betokened  a  pleasant  night.  Uncle  Daniel  was  missed 
at  the  house  all  day.  He  had  been  ybyj  industrious  all  morn- 
ing, providing  wood  for  the  ladies  and  was  very  lively  and 
talkative ;  but  had  suddenly  disappeared  about  ten  o'clock, 
leaving  the  impression  with  them,  that  he  too  had  run  away. 

Captain  Evans  had  much  to  attend  to  and  did  not  arrive  at 
the  landing  until  dark.  He  found  Sammy  there,  but  in  a 
state  of  the  utmost  trepidation. 

"  Why  in  thunder,  Sammy,  haven't  you  been  a  gittin'  that 
cunner  up.  You  stand  thar  a  lookin'  like  onto  a  superannu- 
ated heron  on  one  leg,  awaitin'  fer  the  tide  to  rise.  Come,  stir 
your  stumps.  I'm  spectin'  a  lady  passenger  down  here  to- 
night and  nothin'  done." 

Captain  Evans  had  talked  so  rapidly,  he  had  not  noticed  the 
condition  of  the  boy  who  had  been  standing  all  the  while 
with  his  mouth  open  and  his  jaws  working,  trying  to  find  ex- 
pression to  something  he  had  to  say  of  the  most  weighty  im- 
portance. 

"  0,  uncle,  we  'uns  are  diskivered  !  " 

"What?" 

"  We  uns  are  diskivered  !  " 

"  General  Jackson  and  Pocahontas  !  what  do  you  mean  ? '' 

"  The  woods  is  full  ev  'em,  uncle." 

«  Full  of  what,  you  'tarnal  fool  ?  " 

"  Eull  ev  dogs  and  niggers,  sir.     Jest  j^ou  come  this  way." 

They  started  in  direction  of  the  merchandise.  The  old 
man  thought  he  heard  an  unusual  noise,  and  stopped  to  listen. 

*'By  the  livin',  Sammy,  I  think  I  do  hear  somethin'."  But 
Captain  Evans  was  not  a  man  to  be  blnlfed  by  trifles,  and 
picking  up  a  stick  of  wood  he  went  on,  followed  by  the  trem- 
bling youth. 


TOM  BUBTON.  07 

When  the  J  had  come  within  a  few  rods  of  the  place  where 
the  contraband  goods  were  piled,  they  were  accosted  by  the 
voice  of  a  man,  saying : 

"  Who  comes  dare  ?  "  Captain  Evans  was  too  well  versed 
in  negro  jargon  to  be  mistaken  in  the  character  of  the 
speaker,  and  his  suspicions  were  confirmed  when  a  little 
stumped-tail  dog  ran  out  towards  the  new-comers  and  began 
to  bark. 

"■  Why,  Sammy,  it's  nobody  but  old  Daniel,  come  on  and 
don't  be  afeered  ev  your  shadow." 

"  Is  dat  you,  Marster  Captain  Evans  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  what  in  thunder  are  you  doin'  here,  you  black 
imp  ?  " 

*'I  is  a  watchin'  de  whisky,  sir,  I  tought  de  Yankees 
mought  come  and  tote  it  away,  sir." 

^'  You're  a  lyin'  hypercritical  scoundrel.  You  are  stealing 
it!  ^'  roared  the  irate  blockader  kicking  over  the  old  negro  who 
had  in  truth  been  sampling  one  of  the  barrels. 

"  Get  you  gone,  yer  impercunerous  old  thief.  Ef  I  ever 
catch  you  stealing  ev  my  goods  agin  I'll  hang  yer  up  to  a 
sapplin.  Come,  Sammy,  ketch  hold  here,  and  roll  these  bar'ls 
down  to  the  landin  whilst  I  raise  the  cunner.  It's  time  we 
uns  was  a  gittin'  away  from  here.'^ 

Daniel  was  on  his  knees  in  the  attitude  of  supplication. 

''  'Fore  my  Heavenly  Marster — " 

"  Git  up  from  thar,  you  sancterfied  villain,  and  help  the  boy 
load  up  these  things.  Lend  a  hand  here,  I  say."  The  ap- 
l^lication  of  another  kick  sent  the  old  negro  over  on  his  beam- 
end,  but  without  waiting  for  the  stimulus  of  a  third,  he  seized 
a  barrel  and  he  and  the  boy  hurried  the  goods  to  the  landing, 
while  the  captain  went  into  the  water  and  pulled  out  the 
boat. 

"  Hurry  up,  Sammy.  See  that  the  gimlet  hole  is  stopped  up 
whar  that  old  thief  ware  a  drawin  out  tlie  whisky.  Put  all 
the  boxes  in  and  run  up  arter  the  mail  at  the  house." 

By  this  time  a  lady,  deeply  veiled,  had  reached  the  landing, 
coming  down  from  another  direction.  Captain  Evans  saluted 
her,  going  on  with  his  work. 

Sammy  had  not  gone  far  before  he  met  Miss  Kate  Moore 
coming  down  to  the  creek. 

"  You  must  excuse  my  haste,  ladies,"  he  said  to  the  two 
ladies  who  were  standing  near  each  other,  as  he  pulled  off  his 
rubber  boots  and  turned  to  assist  Sammy  and  the  negro. 
"  We  uns  is  late  and  in  a  dreadful  hurry.  Jest  hand  your 
letters  to  that  boy.     He'll  take  care  ev'  em." 


98  TOM  BunTon, 

Miss  Moore  ventured  to  address  the  stranger. 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  to  cross  the  bay  in  so  small  a  craft  ? '' 

"  Oh,  no.  I  can  trust  myself  to  the  care  of  the  Captain. 
He  is  cautious  and  trustworthy  I  am  told." 

"  Pardon  me,  are  you  from  far  ?  " 

"  Circumstances  will  not  allow  me  to  be  communicative," 
replied  the  other  in  a  voice  not  at  all  familiar  to  Miss 
Moore. 

"  I  do  hope  you  will  have  a  pleasant  night  and  a  safe  voy- 
age," she  added. 

"  Thank  you." 

"  All  aboard,  Sammy  ?  " 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir."^ 

"  Then  jump  in.  And  you,  Miss,  j^ou  sit  right  down  here 
next  to  me.  Right  thar.  Good-bye,  Miss  Kate.  And  you, 
Dan'l-in-the-lions'-den,  ef  you  go  and  blow  about  this  and  the 
Yankees  git  wind  ev  my  business,  I  will  be  the  death  ev  you. 
Shove  her  off,  Sammy." 

Daniel  was  gone.  So  was  Captain  Evans.  Kate  stood  on 
the  shore  and  watched  them  sail  away.  The  evening  was 
pleasant  and  she  lingered  there  until  the  sail  of  the  canoe 
was  hidden  out  of  sight  by  a  turn  in  the  creek.  She  turned 
to  go  when  her  dog  came  bounding  down  to  the  place  looking 
for  her,  and  expressing  great  joy  at  having  found  her.  She 
patted  him  on  the  head,  saying: 

*'  My  only  friend.  Did  you  think  your  mistress  had  gone 
across  the  bay,  Rover  ?  Come,  my  pet,  we  will  go  back. 
There  is  no  one  in  the  house  with  mother,  and  Colonel  Bur- 
ton may  come  to  tell  us  something  about  papa.  Come, 
Bover." 

The  moon  had  risen  over  the  tops  of  the  houses,  and  was 
shining  through  the  trees.  The  dog  went  on  ahead,  but 
suddenly  turned  and  came  back  as  if  frightened.  Kate  did 
not  pay  any  special  attention  to  his  movements,  thinking  that 
Daniel  might  be  waiting  for  her  in  the  thicket.  He  came  up 
to  her  and  she  patted  him  again  and  went  on,  the  brute 
walking  by  her  side. 

Presently  the  animal  stopped  and  began  to  growl. 

"  What  is  it,  Rover  ?  "  she  asked,  beginning  to  feel  un- 
pleasantly at  the  dog's  conduct.  She  quickened  her  foot- 
steps, and  had  reached  the  middle  of  the  wood,  when  a  slen- 
der sapling  suddenly  bent  down  across  the  narrow  path  in 
front  of  her,  and  leaping  from  its  boughs  as  supple  as  a  cat, 
old  Susie  the  witch  planted  herself  directly  in  her  way. 
The  dog,   frightened,  uttered  a   howl,  and  ran  through  the 


TOM  BURTON.  99 

thicket  as  if  he  had  seen  an  apparition.  Kate  was  not  super- 
stitious. She  knew  it  was  common  to  ascribe  occult  powers 
to  old  negro  women,  but  had  always  held  such  an  idea  in  ridi- 
cule, and  left  such  nonsense  to  the  uneducated ;  but  there 
was  something  in  the  frightful  face  of  this  old  hag,  in  her 
saucy  effrontery  and  menacing  attitudes  that  not  only  alarm- 
ed her,  but  deprived  her  of  all  control  of  herself.  The  action 
of  her  faithful  dog  was  not  calculated  to  reassure  her, 
and  left  there  alone  to  confront  the  hideous  old  witch,  was  a 
trial  too  sudden  and  unlooked  for,  for  one  in  her  weak  and  ner- 
vous condition  to  overcome.  With  a  grimace  that  was  ghostly- 
or  rather  devilish,  in  the  moonlight,  and  her  red  eyelids  blink- 
ing, and  white  balls  rolling  in  their  sockets,  the  old  woman 
peered  into  Kate's  face,  as  she  did  so,  chanting : 

*'  For  de  year  ob  Jubelo  am  come, 
An'  de  niggars  dey  are  a  marchin'  home." 

Kate's  first  thought  was  to  fly,  but  there  was  for  her  no 
way  of  escape  but  in  the  rear,  and  she  did  not  care  to  go  fur- 
ther away  from  home.  The  path  was  narrow,  and  the  small 
pines  grew  close  on  either  side.  While  she  stood  irresolute, 
the  old  witch  came  nearer  and  took  hold  of  her  skirt,  leering 
at  her  in  the  most  diabolical  manner.  Kate  thought  she 
would  die  right  there.  She  screamed  with  all  her  might. 
Only  the  echo  of  her  own  voice  ringing  through  the  woods, 
and  up  and  down  the  creek  shore,  came  back  to  her.  The 
old  witch  laughed  like  a  maniac,  let  go  her  hold  of  Kate's 
dress,  and  danced  a  jig  in  the  path. 

An  owl  flitted  close  by  Kate's  head,  and,  lighting  near  by, 
set  up  a  doleful  screech.  She  could  not  stand  the  pressure 
any  longer.  With  a  single  bound  she  rushed  upon  the  old 
woman,  knocking  her  down  and  trampling  upon  her  as  she 
ran.  Breathless  she  reached  the  gate,  but  a  sight  more  appall- 
ing still,  burst  upon  her  frantic  vision.  Brighter  than  the 
full  moon,  brighter  than  the  noon-day,  there  rose  before 
her  the  glare  of  an  awful  conflagration.  The  whole  east  was 
illuminated.  Tongues  of  fire  leaped  up  toward  the  sky  and 
kissed  out  the  stars. 

The  mansion  was  ablaze  !  But  one  thought  took  possession 
of  her  mind.  All  else  was  forgotten.  It  was  her  mother. 
She  heard  not  the  exultant  chuckle  of  the  old  witch  behind 
her.  How,  or  when,  she  reached  the  scene  of  the  fire,  she 
never  knew.  A  number  of  soldiers  were  running  here  and 
there,  trying  in  vain  to  ^ave  the  house,     She  realized  the  aw- 


100  TOM  BURTON. 

ful  truth,  that  her  mother  was  yet  in  the  burning  building. 
She  essayed  to  throw  herself  into  the  roaring  flames,  but  was 
caught  by  a  strong  arm  and  borne  away  to  the  negroes' 
quarters. 

It  was  Colonel  Burton  who  had  rescued  her;  but  she  knew 
it  not.  She  knew  nothing.  A  bed  of  overcoats  was  made 
for  her,  and,  placing  her  inanimate  form  upon  it,  the  gallant 
officer  sat  down  to  watch  by  her  side,  while  the  fire-fiend, 
careering  in  his  might,  roared  and  raved  around  the  falling 
roof-tree  of  her  dear  old  home,  until  it  licked  up  the  last  ves- 
tige of  house,  and  mother,  and  all  ! 


PART  III. 
CHAPTER  XII. 

OSTRACISM. 

LoED  MacaulAt  has  said  that  a  man  who  will  die  at  the 
stake  for  his  religion,  will  not  hesitate  to  consign  his  dissent- 
ing brother  to  the  same  fate.  The  idea  is  the  historian's,  the 
words  ours. 

Coming  from  a  Conservative,  such  a  thought  has  no  little 
significance;  and,  taken  in  its  most  mollifying  sense,  can 
have  no  other  meaning  but  that  radicalism,  if  not  really  ag- 
gressive, is  uncompromising  and  stubborn.  The  Burton 
family  was  one  of  that  unyielding  sort,  having  come  down 
imchanged  from  the  days  of  Cromwell,  unconquered  and  un- 
conquerable. 

The  father  of  Tom  and  Mary  Burton  had  been  a  turbulent 
man  in  his  day  and  generation.  Not  aggressively  so,  but 
like  a  rock  in  the  midst  of  an  angry  ocean,  which,  while  it  is 
motionless  itself,  throws  back  the  wild  billows  that  dash 
against  it,  one  upon  another,  making  the  sea  white  with  the 
foam  of  a  fierce  but  fruitless  onslaught. 

Austere  in  his  demeanor,  fixed  in  his  principles,  and  stern 
in  his  integrity,  he  had  stood  his  ground  through  all  opposi- 
tion, and  presented  against  the  political  persecutions  of  his 
times,  a  front  so  bold  that  no  one  could  be  found  with  suffi- 
cient temerity  to  attempt  to  dislodge  him.  A  Methodist  of 
the  Methodists,  an  Emancipationist,  out  and  out,  freeing  his 


TOM  BUBTOJSr.  101 

negroes  as  fast  as  they  arrived  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  and 
a  Unionist  to  the  core,  old  man  Burton  preached,  lived  and 
died  in  a  community  that  sneered  at  his  religion,  cursed  him 
for  his  abolitionism  and  hated  him  for  his  patriotism. 

His  two  children  inherited  only  to  a  limited  degree  the 
stalwart  qualities  of  their  sire,  and  these  had  been  somewhat 
modified  by  the  associations  of  their  youth. 

Tom  was  more  like  his  father  than  Mary  ;  and  under  dif- 
ferent treatment  than  he  had  received  from  his  neighbors, 
would  probably  have  been  a  preacher.  The  girl,  on  the  other 
hand,  had  taken  all  her  father's  sunshine  (surely  he  had  some), 
and  all  her  mothers  gentleness.  Her  whole  nature  was  im- 
bued with  a  religious  fervor;  but  an  enthusiasm  which  had 
in  it  not  one  single  spark  of  suj^erstition,  or  fanaticism. 
Environed  by  pleasant,  and  agreeable  surroundings,  such  a 
disposition  would  have  culminated  in  a  character  as  serene 
and  placid  as  a  lake  in  summer.  But  alas  !  such  an  environment 
was  not  to  be  hers.  Instead'of  sunshine,  she  knew  nothing 
but  storm.  Instead  of  joy,  nothing  but  sorrow.  A  few  days 
of  school-life,  themselves  burdensome  because  of  ostracism 
and  neglect,  and  Mary's  life  from  girlhood  had  been  one  con- 
tinued scene  of  struggle  and  oppression.  No  wonder  that 
she  relapsed  into  a  condition  of  melancholy,  in  which  a  jDrac- 
ticed  eye  might  have  discerned  the  lurkings  of  danger  to 
both  soul  and  body. 

]!^o  one  can  contemplate  such  a  wreck  of  moral  character — 
a  wreck,  not  in  the  sense  of  depravity,  but  a  wreck  in  the 
crippling,  maiming,  and  curbing  of  all  that  might  have  been 
useful,  and  ornamental,  from  a  religious  point  of  view,  with- 
out feelings  of  regret,  any  more  than  that  of  intense  indigna- 
tion against  those  by  whose  machinations  such  a  wrong  was 
perpetrated.  Her  faith  would  have  been  practical,  her  reli- 
gion an  every-day  religion.  Whatever  there  might  be  in  a 
strictly  Christian  life  which  demoralized  the  co-ordinate  factors 
of  the  social  structures  or  marred  the  symmetr}^  of  a  well  ordered 
system  of  social  ethics,  she  would  have  discarded  as  unworthy 
of  a  classification  among  the  Christian  virtues.  She  would 
thus  have  been  what  every  good  Christian  ought  to  be : 
charitable,  unsectarian,  undogmatic,  willing  to  accept  from 
all  the  creeds  that  which  is  human,  and  Christlike  ;  rejecting 
all  that  is  artificial,  unnatural  and  unlike  the  teachings  of 
the  Master.  Her  religion  was  of  a  sort  that  did  not  de- 
humanize, unsex  or  craze.  Such  a  faith  makes  humanity  more 
human,  beauty  more  beautiful,  mind  and  body  lovely  in 
association,  more  brilliant  in  intercourse.     As   art   denudes 


102  TOM  BURTON, 

and  beautifies  what  a  false  and  prurient  modesty  conceals, 
the  one  subjugating  the  baser  passions  by  an  appeal  to  all 
that  is  honorable  and  chaste — the  other  inviting  lust  by  a 
lack  of  confidence  in  its  own  virtue — so  a  religion  like  Mary's 
might  have  been  is  one  that  carries  the  sweets  of  human  ex- 
perience in  one  hand,  and  the  blessings  of  God  in  the  other. 
But  as  passing  clouds  cast  shadows  on  the  mountain  sides, 
changing  bright  colors  of  the  variegated  heath,  so  the  unto- 
ward surroundings  of  Mary  Burton's  life  had  colored  all 
her  character ;  darkening  the  secular,  without  illuminating 
the  pious  side  of  it. 

These  are  not  moralizings.  They  are  facts  thrown  out 
that  the  reader  may  find  an  apology  to  offer — an  excuse  to 
mitigate,  and  temper  judgment  in  passing  upon  the  conduct 
of  one  who  thus  far  has  figured  in  these  pages  as  one  of  its 
brightest  and  fairest  characters. 

"You  will  see,  Tom,"  she  remarked  to  her  brother,  '^  when 
the  war  is  over  the  Union  people  will  be  hated  just  as  much 
by  Southerners  as  they  are  now.  It  will  take  at  least  fifty 
3"ears  for  this  prejudice  to  wear  out,  if  it  does  then.  All  my 
old  associates  treat  me  with  contempt.  The  girls  of  Miss 
Blake's  school,  even  Miss  Blake  herself,  passes  me  by  with 
scarcely  a  sign  of  recognition.  Of  course,  I  do  not  mention 
this  complainingly,  or  as  showing  any  lack  of  womanly  cour- 
age ;  but,  Tom,  it  is  too  hard  to  live  and  die  shut  out  from  all 
society,  Avith  no  standing  whatever  in  one's  owm  county." 

^^I  admit  all  that,  Mary  ;  but  let  us  cling  to  the  right  if 
we  die  for  it.  Besides,  w^e  shall  see  a  change.  If  we  make 
good  use  of  this,  the  flood-tide  of  our  prosperity,  we  shall  not 
always  lie  at  the  bottom.  A  steady,  consistent  course,  com- 
petency, and  protection,  wdll  wdn  for  us,  by  and  by,  all  "we 
deserve.  For  us  to  act  otherwise,  would  call  our  dear  old 
father  from  his  grave,  to  repudiate  and  disown  us.  We  shall 
have  money  and  true  respectability.  What  more  need  we 
care  for  ?  " 

"  Alas,  dear  Tom,  it  is  not  within  the  reach  of  money  to 
make  a  woman  happy.  Our  sex  is  made  up  of  pride,  ambi- 
tion and  vanity.  Without  the  recognition  of  our  neighbors 
we  cannot  enter  into  societ3\  Without  an  entrance  into 
society,  we  have  no  chance  to  gratify  any  of  those  desires 
which  I  have  mentioned.  Why,  don't  you  know,  that  it 
would  do  a  woman  no  good,  be  she  married  or  single,  to  have 
the  richest  dress,  or  finest  embroidered  petticoat,  if  she  could 
not  show  it  to  some  other  woman,  and  talk  about  it  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  Marj^,  you  are  growing  very  worldly-minded.  I 
fear  you  are  thinking  of  backsliding,    my  girl," 


TOM  BURTON.  103 

"Ko,  dear  Tom,  I  am  only  looking  at  the  dark  side  of  the 
question  this  morning.  By  the  by,  to  change  the  subject, 
how  is   Miss  Moore  ?  " 

"She  is  getting  on;  bitter  as  ever,  insulting  as  ever." 

"Yes,  we  heard  you  had  quite  an  excursion  with  her 
yesterday." 

"  I  only  left  her  this  morning.  Shall  see  her  again  this 
evening." 

"  It  would  appear  from  your  frequent  visits  that  there  was 
some    attraction  at  Moorefield  for  you." 

"  There  is  ;  but  whether  it  is  Miss  Kate  or  no,  I  leave 
that  for  you  to  find  out." 

"  She  was  as  correct  and  faultless  a  girl  at  school  as  I 
ever  saw  ;  only  a  little  reserved  in  her  manners,  which  I  do 
not  think  resulted  from  any  silly  pride,  but  the  manner  of 
her  bringing  up.  She  is  Claude  Walsingham's  affianced,  you 
know  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  suppose  she  is  handsome  as  ever  ?  " 

"  She  is  not  homely.  However,  if  the  old  saj'ing  is  true, 
that  'Beauty  is  as  beauty  does,^  I  don't  think  I've  seen  her 
at  her  best." 

"  You  stayed  at  her  father's  house  last  night  ?  " 

"'  Yes.  I  suppose  that  is  all  over  the  county  by  this  time. 
One  has  only  to  think  of  anything    nowadays  to  publish  it." 

"  Well,  Tom,  treat  her  well.  She  is  a  good  girl,  and  I  am 
sorry  we  should  be  estranged." 

It  was  this  estrangement  business  that  was  killing  Mar}'. 
It  was  ever  boring  at  her  sensitive  heart,  sapping  her  life 
springs.  This  is  why  she  was  sad — a  sadness  which  did  not 
depart  from  her  when  Colonel  Burton  left  her  to  proceed  on 
his  way  to  head-quarters  that  morning,  after  leaving  Moore- 
field. 

He  had  found  his  sister  ill  at  ease,  and  suffering  from  men- 
tal depression  ;  and  although  he  succeeded  in  arousing  in  her 
sufficient  interest  to  converse,  still,  to  talk  had  seemed  to  be 
an  effort.  Mrs.  Mason  said  that  she  knew  her  neice  was 
ill — that  her  brother  ought  to  take  her  away  from  the  Shore, 
to  New  York  or  Baltimore.  She  needed  mental  recreation. 
The  Colonel,  before  leaving,  promised  his  aunt  to  consider 
the  matter,  though  he  was  not  very  deeply  impressed  with 
the  idea. 

If  he  had  known  how  the  little  frail  girl  was  suffering,  he 
would  not  have  left  so  carelessly  that  morning,  nor  would  his 
head  have  been  quite    so   full   of  blockaders  and  ^Moorefield. 


104  TOM  BURTON. 

Captain  Evans  and  all  his  contraband  goods  might  have 
gone  to  Dixie  or  the  bottom  of  the  bay,  for  all  he  would  have 
cared  just  then. 

Whether  he  was  blinder  than  he  might  have  been,  or 
Mary  too  guarded  for  him  to  read  her  intentions,  certain  it 
is,  that  for  many  a  long  day  he  did  not  forgive  himself  for 
the  preoccupation  of  mind  which  caused  him  to  neglect  his 
sister,  who,  he  could  see,  now  it  was  too  late,  was  dying 
even  then  for  that  sympathy  and  love  her  nature  so  neces- 
sarily demanded. 

When  Mrs.  ]\Iason  went  to  the  j^oung  girl's  chamber  the 
next  day,  to  call  her  to  breakfast,  after  an  unusual  indulgence 
in  her  morning  nap,  she  found  her  bed  untouched,  her  room 
in  perfect  order,  but  its  former  occupant  gone  ! 

A  letter  was  Ij'ing  on  a  bureau  in  the  room,  addressed  to 
Colonel  Burton  which  told  a  tale  too  painful  for  utterance.  It 
ran  thus : — 

"  Colonel  Thomas  Burtox. 
"  My  dear  Brother : 

"  When  you  left  Whitemarsh  to-day,  I  felt  that  a  sense  of 
duty,  would  finally  compel  me  to  disclose  to  3'ou  my  intentions. 
I  managed,  however,  to  master  my  feelings,  and  this  note  will 
convey  to  you  what  I  tried  in  vain  to  find  courage  to  person- 
ally impart.  How  you  will  feel  tow^ard  me  when  you  come 
to  miss  me  I  cannot  divine. 

"  That  it  will  cause  you  to  forever  lose  faith  in  everything,  I 
very  much  fear.  I  pray  God  it  may,  at  least,  not  drive  you  in- 
to infidelitj^,  or  impair  your  confidence  in  the  consolations  of 
religion,  or  the  ultimate  good  results  of  a  Christian  education. 
You  must  learn,  my  dear  Tom,  to  look  upon  me  as  an  excej)- 
tion  to  all  the  rules  which  applj^  to  ordinary  girls,  and  learn 
to  judge  of  me  as  one  entitled  to  charity's  largest  indulgence. 

"The  tension  to  which  I  have  been  mentally  subjected  has, 
I  fear,  almost  dethroned  discretion  if  not  judgment :  many  will 
now  say  intellect  also. 

"  I  know  you  will  have  jDatience  to  listen  to  me,  even  if  you 
cannot  find  it  in  jouv  heart  to  condone  my  offense. 

"  Cut  off  from  all  society,  as  you  know  I  have  been,  my  mind 
has  run  much  of  late  upon  religious  subjects  and  fostered  only 
too  well,  the  desire,  perhaps  always  latent  in  me,  to  seek  rest 
from  the  woes  which  have  so  long  oppressed  me. 

"  There  is  a  limit  to  human  endurance,  to  patience  and  even 
to  hope.  A  time  when  life  holds  out  no  longer  the  torch  that 
stimulates  us  to  perseverance,  or,  if  the  torch  still  burns,  hu- 


TOM  BURTON,  105 

man  strength  fails  us,  and  we  sink,  like  poor  Leander,  unable 
to  buffet  the  tide.  At  such  a  time  we  fail  to  find  solace  even 
in  prayer,  and  all  we  care  for  or  desire  is  to  %  away  and  be 
at  peace.  Such  a  condition,  when  it  takes  entire  possession 
of  us,  stimulates  us  to  deeds  of  desperation  and  strengthens  us 
to  face  death  and  become  resigned  to  it. 

"  Kesistlessly,  0  brother,  that  hour  has  come  to  your  poor 
suffering  sister,  and  I  bid  you  and  all  that  was  once  so  near 
and  dear  to  me,  a  long  farewell. 

"  And  why,  my  dear  Tom,  should  we  wish  to  live  in  this  un- 
friendly world  ?  With  an  imbittered  past,  a  present  full  of 
turmoil  and  a  future  without  promise,  what"  compensation 
does  life  hold  out  for  its  cares,  its  pains  and  its  toils  ? 

''  When  this  cruel  war  is  over,  be  its  end  in  favor  of  the 
Federal  or  Confederate  cause,  it  will  make  no  difference  to 
us.  Neither  armed  soldiers  to  protect,  nor  gold  to  buy  earth's 
treasures  can  make  people  love  us.  The  stigma  of  Abolition- 
ism will  burn  into  our  souls  forever. 

"  Should  the  South  win,  as  it  appears  to  me  now,  it  will, 
a  fate  worse  even  than  death  awaits  us.  Better  for  us  to  per- 
ish now,  than  live  and  bear  the  taunts  and  insults  of  a  people 
who  will  always  hate  us  whether  they  or  we  be  the  conquerors. 
"But  why  prolong  this  agony  ?  It  may  seem  very  hard 
and  unnatural  to  you  for  me  to  write  so  apparently  without 
feeling,  upon  a  matter  so  painfully  serious,  but  it  is  best  for 
me  to  command  my  emotions,  and  I  am  trying  so  to  do  ;  still 
harder  than  all  the  rest,  is  it  for  me  to  part  with  you  in  this 
manner. 

''  0,  my  brother,  what  sad  fatality  seems  to  follow  us  in 
that,  just  as  Heaven  has  given  you  back  to  me  reclaimed  and 
clotlied  in  all  your  noble  manhood,  we  must  part  again. 
With  no  one  but  me  to  call  you  brother,  needing  the  tender 
ministrations  and  support  cff  some  warm  heart,  it  seems  too 
cruel  to  leave  you. 

^'  Will  you  not  forgive  me  ?  And  though  we  meet  no  more 
on  earth  may  we  meet  in  a  better  and  brighter  world  on 
high,  where  the  tumult  of  strife  shall  cease  forever  and  ostra- 
cism be  unknown. 

"Once  more  I  bid  you,  and  all  the  family  at  W^hitemarsh,  a 
fond  farewell. 

"Mary." 

A  slipper,  such  as  she  wore  every  day,  her  bonnet  and  shawl 
picked  up  on  the  bay  shore  as  if  washed  up  on  the  beach,  fur- 
nished all  the  clue  her  stunned  and  bereft  relatives  could  ob- 


106  TOM  BURTON, 

tain,  as  to  what  manner  the  poor  girl  had  escaped  from  her 
sorrows  and  found  her  ease  at  last,  in  the  arms  of  Lethe. 
For  days  Colonel  Burton  was  like  one  in  a  stupor.  He  shut 
himself  up  in  liis  room  at  the  court-house  and  did  not  go  out 
for  a  week.  When  he  c'id  appear,  however,  at  the  head  of  his 
regiment,  paler  and  calmer  than  before,  his  soldiers  remarked 
a  sterner  determination  than  usual  in  his  somewhat  hardened 
countenance  and  knew  that  he  longed  to  cool  in  battle  the 
fever  of  revenge  that  was  burning  in  his  heart. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

GONE,  CLEAN    GOXE. 

Claude  Walsixgham  was  assigned  to  duty  on  the  staff  of 
General  Huger  with  head-quarters  at  ]S"orfolk. 

Since  the  battle  of  Bull  llun,  on  the  21st  of  July,  there  had 
been  but  very  little  of  importance  done  in  the  way  of  fighting 
in  the  East.  Both  sides  were  busily  recruiting  and  making 
ready  for  the  various  movements  which  were  to  be  made  on 
the  checker-board  of  war  in  the  coming  spring. 

McClellan  was  still  at  Washington  and  Johnston  at  Man- 
assas. 

The  Confederates  were  fortifying  Roanoke  Island  and  other 
points  along  the  Southern  coast,  and  the  Federals  at  their 
rendezvous  at  Fortress  Monroe,  gathering  together  their 
fleets  to  capture  those  very  same  defenses.  At  Norfolk,  every- 
thing was  quiet  so  far  as  the  alarms  of  war  were  concerned ; 
its  debauched  and  heterogeneous  population  being  only  now 
and  then  awakened  from  their  Belshazzar-like  feast  by  a 
stray  shot  from  some  venturesome  gun-boat,  or  the  big  can- 
non at  the  Rip  Raps. 

The  Cliristmas  holiday's  gave  a  week  of  renewed  hilarity 
and  dissipation.  Fireworks,  balls,  fairs,  duels  and  what-nots 
were  the  order  of  the  day.  Many  disturbances  occurred  and 
much  disorder  prevailed,  on  account  of  the  lawless  conduct  of 
the  soldiers  during  this  time,  or  the  incompetency  or  unwill- 
ingness of  the  military  authorities  to  preserve  the  j)eace. 

But  while  the  general  glow  of  excitement  was  sufficient  to 
satisfy  the  most  reckless  and  dissipated  warrior,  there  was  a 
class  of  pleasure-seekers  who  were  in  the  doldrums,  chagrined 
and  disappointed.  Suddenly,  and  without  an  excuse  save  that 
she  had  found  at  last  a  single  heart  to  confide  in,  and  a  single 


fOM  BtJRTON,  lOf 

arm  to  rest  upon,  Miss  Buttercup  had  closed  the  doors  of  her 
salon  to  the  shoulder-strap  gentry  and  instead  of  the  weekly 
soirees  at  her  house  to  which  they  had  been  accustomed  to 
look  forward  with  so  much  pleasure,  there  ceased  to  come  to 
229,  a  single  invitation ;  and  that  favored  source  of  convivial- 
ity was  peremptorily  cut  off  for  the  season.  ^ 

The  fair  enchantress  had  gone  into  seclusion,  taking  Claude 
with  her.  She  appeared  at  the  operas,  it  is  true,  and  was 
seen  often  on  the  street,  at  reviews  and  other  public  places, 
but  never  without  Captain  Walsingham. 

Sometimes  they  walked  out  Church  Street  into  the  coun- 
try, at  others  strolled  through  the  well-kept  grounds  of  the 
marine  hospital  or  roamed  amid  the  magnolia  groves  which 
bordered  the  western  part  of  the  city.  Military  society  was 
nonplussed.  Unfledged  captains  and  clodhopper  lieutenants 
were  relegated  to  the  slums  of  Xebraska  Street.  They  had 
nowhere  else  to  go.  Disappointment  led  to  vituperation. 
Green-eyed  jealousy  began  to  stalk  abroad,  and  the  flippant 
tongue  of  scandal  to  wag. 

They  said  that  Claude  Walsingham  was  throwing  himself 
away.  Was  he  not  closeted  with  the  woman  every  night  ? 
Did  he  not  neglect  his  duties  for  her  ?  A  thousand  and  one 
stories  were  afloat  about  him  and  her;  until  at  length  his 
friends  began  to  look  coldly  upon  him  and  to  cut  him,  and  he 
to  return  the  compliment.  Frequent  quarrels  occurred  at 
229,  growing  out  of  insinuations,  innuendoes,  and  various 
remarks  of  the  kind  in  connection  with  Claude's  attentions 
to  the  lady  in  question,  and  peace  no  longer  reigned  in  the 
once  delightful  boarding-house. 

There  is  one  personage  who  is  invincible.  All  the  kings 
and  all  the  generals,  with  all  their  appliances  and  forces,  are 
futile  when  arrayed  against  her.  Blockades  are  wholly  in- 
effective. Cordons  of  fortifications  cannot  for  a  moment  de- 
lay her  progress.  She  is  Madam  Kumor.  She  travels  afoot, 
on  horseback,  and  by  steam.  She  walks  the  earth,  flies 
through  the  air  and  travels  underground.  Fast  or  slow,  high 
or  low,  she  is  bound  to  get  there. 

It  was  only  a  diversion  for  her  to  step  over  from  Xorfolk  to 
the  Eastern  Shore.  Blockade  runners  were  often  captured 
and  imprisoned,  but  Madam  Eumor  always  escaped,  and  the 
further  she  went  the  more  she  knew.  The  people  of  the 
Eastern  Shore  knew  ten  times  as  much  about  Claude  Walsing- 
ham and  Miss  Buttercup  as  the  denizens  of  Norfolk,  and 
they  pretended  to  know  enough  to  sink  any  two  poor  human 
beings  into  the  lowest  depths  of  perdition. 


10^  TOM  BXiBTOn, 

It  was  a  surprise  to  every  body  that  Miss  Buttercup,  wlio 
was  indeed  and  in  truth  a  woman  of  the  world,  so  given  to 
vanity,  ambition,  and  pleasure,  should  find  in  Claude — in 
other  words,  should  find  in  any  one  man — that  satisfying  por- 
tion to  which  it  had  heretofore  taken  a  whole  world  to  con- 
tribute. True,  Claude  was  young  and  handsome,  educated 
and  refined,  and,  what  was  equally  essential,  in  possession  of 
some  ready  cash  and  drawing  good  pay  ;  but  how  long  would 
all  these  things  last  a  woman  like  Miss  Buttercup  ?  ''  She 
will  treat  him  as  she  has  treated  others,"  said  knowing  ones 
to  the  manner  born.  "He  is  a  great  fool  to  be  caught  in  her 
net,"  said  another.  "  He  is  a  faithless  poltroon,"  said  some  of 
his  Eastern  Shore  friends  who  knew  of  his  engagement  to  Miss 
Moore.  And  so  they  talked.  And  in  fact  his  conduct  was 
quite  as  inexplicable.  Was  he  not  risking  too  much  ?  Would 
he  not  lose  caste  in  the  army  ?  He  had  a  bright  future  be- 
fore him  if  the  war  continued.  The  path  of  glory  stretched 
out  invitingly.  Would  he  spurn  all  these  things,  and,  turn- 
ing from  the  god  of  war,  pay  all  his  devotion  at  the  shrine  of 
Hymen  ?  Would  the  Apollo-like  brow  with  the  locks  of  Jove 
be  placed  supinely  in  the  lap  of  his  Circe,  while  the  Sybarites 
ravaged  his  country  and  destroyed  her  liberties  with  her 
loved  institutions  ? 

But  did  neither  of  them  have  respect  for  the  rights  of  poor 
Kate  Moore  ?  Not  she,  surely,  for  had  she  not  said  that 
every  thing  was  fair  in  love  and  war  ?  Does  ever  one  vain 
and  wicked  woman  suffer  any  abuse  of  conscience  in  prosely- 
ting a  man's  heart  from  the  object  of  his  first  adoration  ? 
Does  she  not  always  exult  in  the  conquest  ?  There  are  some 
courtesans,  even,  who  have  respect  unto  the  rights  of  a  mar- 
ried woman,  but  what  single  woman,  seeking  a  husband,  cares 
for  or  questions  the  relations  growing  out  of  a  mere  engage- 
ment ? 

'  The  fact  is,  a  woman  flying  the  matrimonial  flag  is  a  free- 
booter. She  carries  letters  of  marque  and  reprisal,  and  woe 
be  unto  the  merchandise  of  faith  which  another  ventures  to 
freight  in  the  heart  of  her  betrothed.  Am  I  too  severe  ?  If 
so,  forgive  me,  for  such  has  been  my  experience. 

Alas  !  to  tell  the  truth,  we  very  much  fear  that  Miss  Butter- 
cup, in  her  profession,  was  a  regular  Captain  Kidd,  as  ready 
to  rob  poor  Miss  Kate  Moore  of  Claude,  as  a  buccaneer  to 
rifle  a  merchantman  and  then  make  the  crew  walk  a  plank 
into  the  ocean.  But  lest  we  do  her  injustice  by  innuendo,  let  us 
go  on  and  look  for  facts,  a  course  which  will,  no  doubt,  prove 
more  creditable  to  the  writer  and  more  interesting  to  the 
reader. 


TOM  BURTON.  109 

It  had  only  been  a  fortnight  since  Captain  Evans  had  re- 
turned to  the  Eastern  Shore  with  his  bags  full  of  letters  and 
his  pockets  full  of  Confederate  scrip,  when  Claude  Walsing- 
ham  was  found  intoxicated  on  the  street,  and  taken  to  the 
guard-house.  The  circumstance  was  a  shock  to  his  friends, 
and  caused  no  little  talk  in  military  circles.  But  as  it  was 
his  first  offense,  and  a  thing  of  daily  occurrence  at  that  time 
and  place,  very  little  notice  was  taken  of  it  authoritatively,  and 
no  report  made  to  the  general  commanding. 

For  several  days  afterward,  Claude  conducted  himself  with 
more  circumspection,  but  did  not  relax,  in  the  least,  his  at- 
tentions to  the  siren  of  Freemason  Street.  His  friends  ad- 
monished him,  but  in  vain.  He  knew  his  own  business,  and 
managed  his  own  affairs,  and  begged  that  other  people  would 
do  the  same.  In  this  way  the  short  month  of  the  nativity 
waned  to  its  close.  The  season  was  unusually "  severe  for  the 
climate,  and  again  it  was  snowing. 

The  old  borough  was  wrapped  in  a  mantle  of  soft  white, 
for  snow  in  Virginia  is  softer,  and  if  possible  w^hiter,  than  it 
is  in  Northern  States,  owing,  no  doubt,  at  that  time,  to  the 
fact  of  an  atmosphere  less  impregnated  with  coal  dust,  and, 
as  the  evening  advanced  and  the  street  lamps  were  lighted, 
the  city  took  upon  herself  the  appearance  of  fairyland ;  while 
the  invigorating  effects  of  the  weather,  combined  with  the 
novelty  of  the  scene,  gave  to  municipal  life  an  activity  and 
charm  that  was  exhilarating,  and  a  new  impetus  to  the  romp- 
ing populace. 

What  if  grim-visaged  Janus  did  stand  at  the  door  ?  What 
if,  just  a  few  miles  down  the  river,  the  dogs  of  war  lay  in  their 
kennels,  ready  to  be  unleashed  ? 

"  Let  us  make  merry,"  they  said,  '^  for  to-morrow  we  die." 

In  the  mellow,  tinseled  glow  of  that  winter  night,  Claude 
Walsingham  walked  through  a  crowded,  bustling  street,  to 
the  more  ruddy  and  comfortable  parlors  of  Miss  Buttercup, 
gorgeous  in  velvet  and  satin,  and  filled  with  that  subtle  aroma 
which  surrounded  her,  with  scarcely  a  thought  of  Kate  ^loore. 
or  country,  or  even  honor. 

The  fascinating  woman  met  him  in  all  her  bewitching  ra- 
diance. Not  attired  as  on  the  night  of  his  first  visit,  but  in 
a  black  silk  skirt,  velvet  jacket,  gold  lace  trimmings,  and  open 
vest.  There  was  something  in  the  tight-fitting  basque  that 
gave  to  her  matured  form  a  voluptuousness  that  would  have 
furnished  a  model  for  the  masters.  The  bust  of  a  Venus  was 
enclosed  in  a  corsage  that  conformed  exquisitely  to  its  pro- 
portions. It  was  impossible  to  look  upon  Miss  Buttercup 
without  admiring  her. 


ilO  Tom  BUBToir. 

"Welcome,  my  dear  Captain,"  she  exclaimed,  as  Claude 
entered  the  salon.  "  I  am  glad  you  thought  enough  of  me 
to  brave  the  snow-storm.  My  mind  has  been  running  on  you 
all  day.  I  should  have  been  so  disappointed  had  you  not 
come.  Assist  me  with  the  tete-a-tete.  We  will  draw  it  before 
the  grate  and,  while  it  storms  without,  sweet  peace  shall  reign 
within.  The  front  door  is  barricaded,  and  with  no  one  to 
disturb  us,  what  shall  prevent  an  evening  of  unalloyed  hap- 
piness ?" 

"  Nothing  but  capacity  on  my  part  to  take  it  all  in,  thou 
dispenser  of  heaven-born  joys  !  Let  me  invoke  thy  mercy  as 
little  boys  do  who  dip  their  fingers  in  the  water  they  are 
about  to  bathe  in,  and  make  with  it  a  sign  of  the  cross,  lest 
they  drown  in  the  very  element  that  is  to  afford  them  so 
much  pleasure.  Let  me  taste  a  little  of  what  is  in  store  for 
me,  lest  I  die  in  that  day  when  thou  shalt  prove  all  gracious 
and  I  may  drink  my  fill  of  love ; "  and,  saying  this,  he  drew 
her  to  his  breast  and  kissed  her.  Miss  Buttercup  did  not 
resist,  but  with  burning  cheeks  said : 

"  There  ;  you  think  you  are  highly  privileged,  Captain 
Walsingham,  do  j^ou  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  my  darling,  I  almost  doubt  my  existence  when  I 
think  of  my  good  fortune  and  your  great  condescension.  I 
deem  myself  the  most  favored  man  alive." 

"  The  world  is  large.  Captain,  and  contains  a  great  many 
people,  and  a  person  in  sotiety  has  to  meet  a  very  great  variety 
of  characters.  It  has  been  my  lot  to  have  many  admirers,  but 
if  I  have,  out  of  that  number,  chosen  you  to  be  my  particular 
friend,  what  business  is  it  for  any  one  to  make  remarks  ?  Are 
we  not  both  free,  white,  and  twenty-one  ?  " 

Claude  winced,  feeling  a  sort  of  damper  to  his  ardor  at  the 
mention  of  the  word  "  free,"  but  a  glance  at  the  radiant  face 
by  his  side  reassured  him. 

"  Such  charms  as  yours,  my  own  dear  one,  are  enough  to 
break  any  bonds.  Alas  !  I  feel  that  to  sever  my  heart  from 
the  ties  which  bind  me  to  you  now,  would  tear  my  heart  out 
by  the  roots." 

"  Then  it  should  be  the  last  of  your  thoughts  to  do  such  a 
rash  act,  my  dear  Captain.  I  trust  you  will  not  attempt 
such  a  wicked  thing." 

*'  True,  dearest  ;  and  I  never  intend  to." 

Her  small  smooth  hand  with  its  tapering  fingers  and  pink 
nails,  lay  on  her  lap  as  if  nestling  in  the  folds  of  her  rich 
dress.  Its  outlines  may  be  seen  to-day  in  that  of  the 
"  Coquette/"  which  stands  in  the  Metropolitan   Art  Gallery, 


TOM  BURTON.  HI 

111  tlie  Central  Park,  of  the  city  of  New  York.     And  what  a 
hand  !     Claude  took  it  in  his  own  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"  Whoever  wins  this  is  more  than  a  conqueror,"  he  added. 

"  Suppose  I  should  tell  you  that  it  was  alreddy  won,  that 
there  only  remained  the  formal  delivery  of  it  to  the  gallant 
knight  to  whom  it  has  been  surrendered  ?  AVhat  would  you 
say  ?  " 

Claude  was  startled. 

"  If  such  be  the  case,  spare  me  the  pain  of  telling  me.  Do 
not  extinguish  with  one  blow  the  fond  conceit  I  have  cher- 
ished in  my  presumptuous  heart,  that  I  might  aspire  to  its 
conquest.  By  Heaven  !  I  could  not  survive  and  see  it  in  anoth- 
er's possession." 

^^  But  if  I  should  say  that  he  who  holds  it  now  is  rightful 
owner,  and  is  but  entitled  to  his  own  ?  " 

"My  cup  of  joy  would  run  over.  I  should  have  no  wish 
ungratified.     May  I  so  interpret  your  meaning  ?  " 

"  Would  you  be  true  and  constant  ?  Would  you  sacrifice 
every  thing  for  me  ?  " 

"  Every  thing  !  "  exclaimed  Claude,  intoxicated  with  pas- 
sionate delight.  "  Speak,  darling,  and  make  me  happy  for- 
ever." 

"  Do  not  be  too  much  excited,  my  dear  boy.  Don't  you 
know  that  those  people  who  eat  rapidly  do  not  enjoy  their 
meals.  This  is  a  coarse  figure  to  be  sure,  but  the  more  prac- 
tical the  better  understood.  When  you  have  grown  calmer 
you  can  better  appreciate  3'our  victory  and  enjoy  your  re- 
past. In  the  rush  of  passion,  pleasure  is  run  over  and  abused. 
Let  us  go  slowl}^  that  we  may  digest  as  we  go.  Forego,  my 
dear  fellow,  a  little  enjoyment  to-night,  that  you  may  revel 
in  a  sea  of  bliss  in  the  near  future." 

"  Did  you  not  hold  out  a  flag  of  truce,  my  own  darling,  I 
should  this  moment  storm  the  citadel." 

"  Be  not  so  rash,  my  gallant  Caj^tain.  There  is  virtue  iq 
patience." 

"  But,  my  precious  one,  in  this  case  procrastination  is 
agony.  I  live  as  in  a  dungeon,  a  vrretched  prisoner  bound 
down  by  galling  chains  till  you  shall  set  me  free." 

'^  In  that  case,  my  dear  Captain,  I  must  confess  to  a  like  con- 
dition. But,  following  the  example  of  the  belligerents  who, 
3^ou  know,  have  at  last  now  come  to  terms,  I  shall  see  that  in  a 
few  days  we  have  a  cartel  for  the  exchange  of  prisoners.  After 
which  we  will  declare  the  war  ended,  and  all  I  have  and  am 
shall  be  at  your  command.     Does  this  satisfy  you  ?  " 

"Admirable  woman!    You  make  even  delay  tolerable  by 


112  TOM  BURTON. 

your  wonderful  tact,  and  wliet  the  edge  of  anticipation  b}-- 
the  fullness  of  the  promises  you  make.  I  could  wait  for  such 
a  consummation  a  lifetime,  and  live  on  the  joy  which  ante- 
dates it." 

"  There,  Captain,  you  have  said  enough.  Your  devotion  is 
only  equaled  by  yoxxv  extravagances.  And  since  nothing  is 
finished  without  a  sacrament,  let  us  seal  the  pledges  we 
have  made  to-night  by  consecrating  to  Bacchus." 

So  saying  she  arose  and  went  and  brought  a  bottle  of  wine, 
which  Claude  uncorked  ;  and  they  mingled  the  mystic 
rites  of  love  with  the  fumes  of  alcohol,  till  surfeited  with 
both  they  reluctantly  separated  long  after  the  hours  of  mid- 
night, and  again  Claude  Walsingham  reeled  home  to  his 
boarding-house  doubly  intoxicated,  and  raised  to  the  third 
Heaven  of  an  ecstatic  hallucination. 

He  went  to  bed  in  a  sort  of  dazed  stupor,  and  slept  like  a 
log  until  ten  o'clock  the  next  day. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

LOVE   AT    FIRST   SIGHT. 

The  human  passion  we  denominate  Love,  not  unfre- 
quently  comes  to  us  like  the  quickening  impulses  of  human 
life.  Without  the  slightest  perceptible  warning,  save  the 
flutter  of  a  quivering  wing,  Cupid,  like  a  terror-stricken  dove, 
homes  himself  in  the  unsuspecting  heart,  and  by  some  occult 
power  of  his,  transforms  us  in  a  moment.  Not  only  are  we 
ourselves  recreated,  but  the  whole  universe  has  undergone,  to 
us  at  least,  a  metamorphosis  so  absolute,  that  we  can  never 
look  abroad  again  with  the  same  feelings  we  did  before.  In 
some  such  way  the  feeling  came  to  Captain  Evans'  nephew 
that  night  after  they  had  left  the  landing  at  Moorefield  with 
the  unknown  lady  passenger  bound  for  the  Western  Shore. 

It  came  about  in  this  way:  Impressed  with  the  idea  that 
his  merchandise  had  been  discovered,  the  wary  old  boatman 
made  all  haste  to  put  as  much  space  of  land  and  water,  but 
especially  the  latter,  between  himself  and  the  Yankee  scouts 
as  possible.  While  the  grand  pyrotechnic  display  was  going 
on  at  Moorefield,  adding  its  horrors  to  the  strange  events  of 
the  disjointed  times,  the  voyagers  were  pressing  on  with  all 
their  might  toward  the  mouth  of  the  creek. 

In  its  tortuous  passage  to  the  bay,  this  stream  was,  in  cer 


TOM  BURTON.  115 

tain  places,  very  narrrow  and  quite  overlapped  with  pine  and 
cedar  trees,  little  swept  hj  any  wind  that  might  blow.  To 
get  out  of  such  a  place  in  a  hurry  could  be  accomplished  only 
by  dint  of  rowing  and  paddling,  of  which  enjoyable  recrea- 
tion Captain  Evans  and  his  nephew  were  taking  their  fill, 
when  suddenly,  at  a  point  near  the  mouth  of  the  stream,  the 
tide  being  low,  the  flying  craft  struck  a  sand-bar  and  "  took 
up,"  throwing  Sammy  flat  on  his  back  in  the  bottom  of  the 
canoe,  and  Captain  Evans,  who  was  steering,  almost  over  the 
head  of  the  lady.  Overboard,  at  the  command  of  the  irate 
captain,  went  both  he  and  the  boy,  and  if  ever  human  energy 
M-as  employed  to  its  greatest  capacity  to  effect  an  object,  it 
was  expended  here  in  this  case.  But  all  in  vain,  the  canoe 
would  not  stir. 

''  This  is  very  misfortionable,"  said  Captain  Evans,  raising 
himself  up  with  his  hand  to  his  back.  "  It  are  still  ebb  tide, 
and  we  uns  will  hev  to  lie  here  ontil  mornin'.  Somethin'  has 
got  to  be  done  with  the  cunner  and  things,  or  we  uns  moight 
git  kotched." 

'^  And  the  young  lady,  uncle  ;  what  shall  we  do  with 
her,"  whispered  the  boy,  brushing  the  perspiration  from  his 
brow,  as  they  stood  on  the  bank  looking  doubtfully  at  the 
sulky  boat. 

"  Hain't  it  easy  enuff,  you  dummy,  to  hide  her  in  the  woods, 
like  a  cow  does  her  calf  at  milkin'  time  ?  She's  got  legs,  and 
she  kin  walk.  But  that  old  cunner  can't  git  up  and  go  like 
onto  a  Christian,  you  know,  nor  them  goods  ether." 

"  That  remark  ev  yourn  is  true  enuS,  uncle,  but  I'll  tell 
you  what  we  can  do,"  said  Sammy  bristling  with  the  fertility 
of  his  inventive  genius.  The  old  captain  thought  any  sug- 
gestion in  such  an  exigency  worth  considering,  no  matter  the 
source,  so  he  eagerly  inquired,  in  better  humor : 

"  Well,  what  is  that,  my  son  ?  " 

"  We  can  take  the  things  outen  her  and  sink  her."  Captain 
Evans'  disgust  was  poorly  expressed  in  his  reply. 

"  You  tarnation  fool  !  Don't  you  see  she  is  sunk  already 
as  low  as  she  kin  git.  I  believe,  my  soul,  the  older  you  git 
the  bigger  fool  you  git.  Ef  you  hev  got  enny  plan  to  offer 
your  poor  old  uncle  to  fotch  him  outen  this  scrape,  why  don't 
you  do  so,  and  not  stand  thar  a  suggestin'  your  unpractical 
propositions  ?  " 

Sammy,  who  was  not  much  given  to  loquacity,  was  awed 
into  respectful  silence,  as  much  by  the  high-sounding  words 
a,s  the  wrath  of  his  vexed  kinsman. 

"No.  I'll  tell  you  jist  what  we  uns  hev  got  to  do  with 
that  cunner,"  he  cofltinued,  musingly. 


114  TOM  BURTON. 

"  What  is  that,  uncle  ?  " 

"  AVhy,  jist  let  her  lie  right  thar.  The  banks  evthe  creek 
is  high,  and  the  tide  bein'  low,  she  will  be  concealed  from 
view.  We  uns  will  trow  some  pine  bushes  over  her  and  take 
to  the  woods  ourselves,  and  wait  till  mornin'." 

"  But  the  young  lady,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Gineral  Jackson  and  Pocahontas,  Sammy  !  Will  you  go 
crazy  about  tlie  young  woman  ?  Don't  you  remagine  I  kin 
look  out  fer  her  ?  " 

Sammy  again  collapsed. 

"  Howsomever,  as  long  as  you  wants  to  be  a  doin'  some- 
thin'  fer  the  3"oiing  lady,  you  kin  wade  in  thar  and  fotch  out 
them  overcoats  and  that  buffalo-robe,  and  take  and  make  a 
sort  ev  shelter  under  the  bushes  for  the  young  un,  so  she  kin 
cotch  a  nap  thar  in  the  woods.  It  are  gettin'  right  smart 
cold,  and  I  presume  she  is  not  werry  comfurtable  cooped  up 
thar  in  the  cunner  like  onto  a  possum  in  a  gum." 

If  it  had  been  daytime.  Captain  Evans  might  have  seen 
Sammy's  face  blossom  into  a  smile  as  bland  as  summer-time, 
as  he  made  haste  to  carry  into  effect  the  commands  of  his 
superior,  who,  by  this  time,  had  turned  his  back  and  gone 
sauntering  into  the  forest. 

With  the  alacrity  of  one  who  delights  in  his  job,  Sammy 
went  to  work  and  made  a  cosy  bower  under  the  cedar  bushes, 
with  the  aid  of  pine  boughs  and  shatters,  where  he  spread 
the  robe,  leaving  the  overcoats  for  covering.  But  now,  when 
all  was  ready,  the  most  difficult  part  of  the  problem  presented 
itself.  How  was  he  to  get  her  out  of  the  canoe  ?  There  was 
yet  some  water  running  down  stream,  and  it  would  not  do  to 
have  the  delicate  passenger  wade  out  to  the  shore.  Her  feet 
would  be  cold  all  night  if  wetted  now. 

"  I  wish  uncle  war  here  this  very  minnit,"  tliought  the  boy 
in  his  dilemma. 

He  did  not  know  how  to  act.  He  was  too  diffident  to  offer 
his  services ;  although  the  pleasure  of  clasping  that  de- 
lectable little  form  in  his  arms,  would  be  a  pleasure  beyond 
his  most  extravagant  calculations. 

Necessity  is  not  only  the  parent  of  invention,  but  the 
vanquisher  of  obstacles  both  imaginary  and  real,  so  Sammy 
could  do  nothing  else  but  wade  out  to  the  boat  and  stammer  : 

"  I  hev  restructed  a  nice  place  fer  you  out  thar  in  the 
bushes.  Miss,  and  you  kin  now  go  ashore  if  you  likes  to." 

The  young  lady  stood  up,  and  surveying  the  difficulty, 
answered : 

"But  how  am  I  to  get  there,  Sammy  ?" 


TOM  BURTON,  115 

"  Indeed,  Miss,  I  can't  say,  unles^you  permit  me  to  take 
you  thar,"  stammered  Sammy. 

"  But  you  cannot  carry  me  so  far,  can  you  ?  " 

"  I  can  tote  you  to  the  beach  on  t'other  side  ev  the  county, 
Miss,"  said  the  boy,  urging  his  proposition  with  increasing 
confidence.  "  Ef  I  was  goin'  to  the  moon  I  could  tote  you  all 
the  way.  Miss." 

"  Well,  then,  I  suppose  you  will  have  to  try.  Don't  drop 
me,  Sammy." 

"  Don't  drap  you  !  No,  Miss.  Your  mammy  never  rocked 
you  in  the  cradle  safer  nor  I  will  carry  you,"  he  assured  her, 
as  he,  trembling,  placed  his  arms  about  her  slender  body, 
fumbling  awkwardly  with  her  hoop-skirts,  which  seemed  to 
be  very  much  in  his  way. 

The  lady,  smiling,  yielded  herself  to  his  embrace,  and  was 
landed  on  terra-jirina  as  easily  as  if  she  had  been  transported 
in  a  balloon. 

"  Are  we  to  remain  here  all  night  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  I  s'pose  so,  Miss.  We  uns  hev  to  wait  fer  the  tide. 
They  say  time  and  tide  waits  fer  no  man  ;  but  we  uns  has 
often  to  wait  fer  both." 

"  But  are  we  not  in  danger  of  being  discovered  and  capt- 
ured ?  " 

"  I  hope  not.  Miss,  uncle  is  on  the  track  ev  them  ar  Yan- 
kees, and  he  is  as  cunning  as  a  fox,  and  as  sly  as  a  mink.  So 
you  jest  sit  down  thar  and  make  yourself  easy,  while  I  makes 
up  a  fire.  W^hen  you  gits  a  tired  a  settin'  up,  yo\x.  kin  lay 
down  and  take  a  nap." 

As  the  air  was  chilly,  the  young  lady  obeyed;  while 
Sammy  began  to  gather  sticks,  and  prepare  his  flint  and 
steel.  It  was  not  long  before  he  had  a  warm  blaze  burning 
at  the  feet  of  the  girl,  who  had  reclined  herself  under  the 
bower.  The  red  light  shone  full  in  her  face.  Its  sweetness 
charmed  the  boy. 

"  Now,  Miss,  I  calls  this  relightful.  I'd  rather  be  here  than 
in  mammy's  feather-bed.  You  may  go  to  sleep  whenever 
you  see  proper,"  and  as  he  went  on  he  rubbed  his  hard  hands 
with  a  degree  of  perfect  satisfaction. 

"  This  is  a  hard  business,  Sammy." 

"  Hard,  Ma'am,  oh  no.     I  calls  this  glorious." 

"  But  suppose  you  should  get  caught  ?  " 

"  Uncle  says,  as  how  them  fellers  don't  want  to  hurt  we 
uns.     But  I  think  he  only  talks  that  way  to    recourage  me." 

"  What  will  you  do  after  I  go  to  sleep  ?  " 

"  Sot  up  and  watch  over  you,  Miss." 


116  TOM  BURTON. 

"  But  you  will  get  sleepy  yourself  before  morning." 

"  Oh,  no,  Miss,  setten  here  and  looking  at  you,  so  safe  and 
sound  will  keep  me  awake,"  he  said,  so  thoughtlessly,  that  he 
did  not  weigh  his  words  until  he  had  uttered  them,  when  he 
blushed  at  their  import. 

"  Would  it  not  be  safer  to  find  some  house  where  we  could 
stay  until  the  tide  rises  ?  " 

"There  ar'n't  any  housens  in  this  neighborhood.  And  ef 
we  uns  should  rummage  about  here  too  much,  the  niggers 
mought  find  us  out  and  blow  on  us." 

"  Then,  I  suppose,  we  must  put  up  with  our  lot  and  be 
satisfied." 

"  Jest  so,  Miss.  La  sakes  alive,  how  interesten  it  is  to  see 
you  a  lyin'  thar  so  nice  and  kemfortable  a  takin'  your  rest. 
Let  me  kiver  you  up.  Now,  thar  you  is  as  snug  as  a  rabbit 
in  a  sedge  patch.     This  is  what  I  calls  romantic,  Miss." 

"Very  romantic,  Sammy,"  laughed  the  girl.  ''But  are  jou 
not  uncomfortable,  Sammy.     Your  feet  are  wet,  I'm  sure." 

"  Me  a  cold  !  Why,  bless  your  sweet  life,  lady,  I'd  never 
git  a  cold  a  settin'  here  a  w^eek  a  looking  at  you." 

"  I'm  sorry  I'm  so  much  trouble  to  3'ou." 

"  Trouble,  you  say,  lady,  trouble  ?  Ef  you  calls  this  trouble 
I  don't  know  what  pleasure  is.  Wh}^,  lady,  I  feel  jest  like  a 
jay-bird!"  and  the  overflowing  of  Sammy's  feelings  got  so 
much  the  better  of  him  that  he  was  dancing  round  the  fire 
like  a  wild  Indian,  when  a  crackling  of  the  underbrush  an- 
nounced the  approach  of  some  one,  and  his  uncle  reappeared. 

Sammy's  feathers  dropped  like  a  disgusted  peacock's  as  the 
old  man  cleared  his  throat  and  asked  : 

"  Hev  you  been  into  that  whisky,  Sammy  ?  Your  tongue 
has  been  a  runnin'  all  night,  and  now  you've  got  it  into  j^our 
feet.  You'd  a  better  be  quiet  and  not  allow  yer  'tarnal 
foolishness  to  run  clean  away  with  you ;  fer  mighty  quar 
proceedins  is  goin  on  up  thar  in  the  land.  Thar  are  an  al- 
mighty great  light  in  the  sky  in  the  'rection  of  old  Colonel 
Moore's.  It  mought  be  the  rawrorar ;  but  ef  I'm  not 
mistaken,  it  looks  to  me  as  ef  it  war  sombody's  great  house 
afire.  Them  niggers  are  all  run  stark  mad  up  thar,  and  be- 
fore my  Maker,  I  jest  believe  the  world  are  comin'  to  an  end. 
Things  will  never  be  like  they  was  afore — " 

Looking  after  the  condition  of  the  girl,  and  assuring  him- 
self that  she  was  comfortable,  the  old  man,  after  instructing 
Sammy  to  be  quiet  and  keep  a  good  look-out,  started  out  again 
to  reconnoitre. 

This  turn  of  affairs  pleased  the  boy  amazingly.     He  could 


TOM  BITBTON,  117 

scarcely  repress  a  chuckle  of  delight.  Sitting  down  on  the 
ground  over  against  his  now  sleeping  charge,  he  clasped  his 
long  legs  in  his  arms  and  whistled  "  Dixie  "  in  a  low  tone  as 
gayly  as  a  mocking  bird. 

"  Gro  to  sleep,  ni}^  little  Duckie.  You  jest  needn't  keer 
fer  mortal  man.  You  is  jest  as  safe  as  ef  you  was  in  Heaven. 
You  jest  consider  yourself  thar  already  and  me  angel  Gabrill 
a  watchin'  over  jou.  You  is  an  angel  anj^way.  You  is  sent 
to  cheer  we  uns  up." — The  girl  winked  her  eyes  and  Sammy 
took  up  his  "  Dixie  "  a  mite  confused.  "  Is  you  serficiently 
warm.  Miss  ?  " 

"  My  feet  are  not  as  warm  as  I  could  desire  them  to  he." 

"  Why,  bless  my  life  !  these  little  footsie-tootsies  is  unkiv- 
ered.  Thar,  now,  I'll  bet  they  coodn't  git  acold  any  more  ter 
night.  Don't  think  about  me.  Miss,  I'm  a — a — raccoon,  I'm 
a  owl,  I'm  a  regular  old  watch  gaoder." 

The  boy's  behavior  was  so  comical  the  girl  found  it  impos- 
sible to  sleep.     So  she  essayed  to  talk  a  while. 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  war,  Sammy  ?  " 

"  Ef  uncle  would  '  low  me  I  would." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  fight  for,  Sammy  ?  " 

"  What  does  anybody  want  to  fight  for,  lady  ?  " 

"Well,  folks  have  different  notions.  Some  for  country, 
some  for  their  property,  and  some  for  wife  and  children,  and 
all  such  as  that.'^ 

"And  some,  I  s'230se,  for  sweethearts,"  added  Sammy. 

"Yes,  and  some  for  sweethearts." 

"  And  ef  I  jest  had  one  ev  them  I'd  fight  fer  her  untwill 
I  died." 

"I  expect  you  would,  Sammy  for  you  are  a  good  boy." 
This  pleased  him  very  much. 

"  But  I  want  ter  ax  yer  one  question,  Miss,  can  a  feller  hey 
a  gal,  and  she  not  know  it  ?  " 

"  Most  assuredly,  Sammy,  and  she  may  never  know  it  un- 
less he  tells  her." 

"  You  mought  hev  one  in  your  mind,  moughten  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  It's  mighty  hard  to  tell  a  gal  that  you  loves  her,  I 
should  guess.     Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"Well,  as  I  am  a  girl  myself,  Sammy,  I  don't  know  how- 
it  is.     But  I  should  not  consider  it  very  difficult." 

"Whew  !  I  think  it  awful  hard.  Miss.  Would  you  mind 
tellin'  a  feller  the  first  word  of  courtship  ?  " 

"  There  is  not  any  particular  way,  Sammy.  I  have  heard 
that  sometimes  a  mere  look  is  sufficient." 


118  TOM  BUttTOK. 

"  Then  ef  I  sees  a  gal  what  I  likes  I'm  gwine  to  look  at 
her  mighty  strong,  jest  like  I  shall  set  here  and  look  at  j'-ou 
all  night.  But  jour  eyes  will  be  shut  and  you  will  be  dream- 
in  of  some  other  feller  all  the  time.     Has  you  enny  feller  ?  " 

The  girl  did  not  reply.  She  was  either  asleep  or  making 
believe  she  was.  Sammy,  a  little  disappointed  and  crest- 
fallen, said  to  hijnself  :  "  She  am  asleep.  Ef  a  feller  couldn't 
fight  fer  that  ar  critter  he  couldn't  fight  for  nothin'.  Ef  I 
war  grammar  larnt  it  wouldn't  be  so  bad."  Creeping  softly 
under  the  bower,  he  carefully  adjusted  the  overcoats  about 
the  tired  sleeper,  and  again  took  his  place  outside  by  the  fire. 

It  was  morning  when  Captain  Evans  came  running  down 
to  the  boat,  calling  Sammy  to  turn  to  and  help  him  launch 
the  boat  over  the  sand.     The  tide  had  risen  considerably. 

"Let's  git  out  into  the  bay  as  quick  as  possible,  it  are  safer 
out  thar.  The  Yankees  is  all  down  thar  to  the  landin'  and 
ole  Colonel  Moore's  house  are  burned  down  to  the  ground,  and 
ole  Missus  Moore  perished  in  the  flames.  Don't  say  nothin' 
to  the  gal,  but  hurry." 

"  These  is  awful  times,  uncle." 

"Yes,  and  the  sooner  we  uns  gits  away  from  here  the 
better." 

Sammy  needed  no  greater  incentive  tlian  tlie  excited  man- 
ner of  the  old  man,  and  taking  the  painter  over  his  shoulder, 
while  his  uncle  shoved  behind,  the  canoe  was  soon  put  into 
water  deep  enough  to  float  a  ship. 

The  young  girl  was  lifted  into  the  boat,  this  time  by  the 
old  man,  and  tumbling  in  the  overcoats  and  buffalo-robes 
Sammy  followed  m' ith  all  the  despatch  the  occasion  called  for. 

It  was  well  for  them  that  they  reached  the  bay  as  soon  as 
they  did,  for  they  had  scarcely  got  beyond  gunshot  when  a 
detachment  of  cavalry  rode  down  to  the  shore  and  began 
firing  at  them. 

The  girl  screamed  with  fright,  and  Sammy  bowed  his  head 
like  a  duck  at  the  shadow  of  a  passing  cloud  ;  but  the  old 
man  sat  bolt  upright,  and  guided  the  canoe,  which  was  mak- 
ing good  speed  before  a  brisk  breeze  from  the  eastward. 
The  shot  fell  far  behind  them,  and  the  soldiers  seeing  that 
they  were  too  late,  turned  back  and  rode  away.  By  ten  o'clock 
the  wind  ceased  and  the  day  grew  dull  and  hazy.  This  suited 
Captain  Evans,  as  he  did  not  wish  to  approach  the  roads  until 
nightfall,  and  as  boats  were  scarce  along  the  bay  shore  he  had 
very  little  fear  of  being  pursued. 

Thus  they  drifted  slowly  over,  trusting  themselves  to  the 
mercy  of  the  tides  and  the  whims  of  the  weather.     As  the 


TOM  BURTON-.  119 

afternoon  came  on  the  little  party  began  to  show  signs  of 
weariness.  Captain  Evans,  usually  jolly,  looked  taciturn  and 
crabbed.  While  Sammy,  with  his  eyes  worn  out,  at  gazing 
at  the  fair  stranger,  nodded  and  blinked,  like  an  owl  in  the 
day  time. 

"  Gineral  Jackson  and  Pocahontas  !  Sammy,  you'll  star  the 
lady  outten  countenance  ef  you  set  thar  and  wink  at  her  in 
that  way.  Don't  you  know  it  am  imperlite  to  wink  at  a 
young  lady  ?  " 

Sammy  assured  his  uncle  that  he  was  not  winking. 

"  But  you  is.  Now  ef  you  feels  sleepy,  why  don't  you  creep 
under  the  foreseat,  and  lie  down  ?  " 

Sammy  did  not  move,  but  rubbing  his  eyes,  averted  his  at- 
tention, looking  out  over  the  bay. 

"  That  boy's  a  curiosity.  Miss,  so  you  needn't  mind  him. 
He's  got  some  devilment  into  his  head,  I  can't  kalkerlate  for." 

"  I  must  put  in  a  word  for  the  boy.  Captain,  he  didn't 
sleep  a  wink  last  night." 

"  Nor  he  never  would  agin,  ef  he  had  you  to  look  at." 

"  He's  a  good  boy.  Captain." 

"  Yes,  he  are  good  enuff.  But  reclined  to  odd  ways,  when 
company's  about."  Sammy  still  continued  to  gaze  seaward, 
his  face  wearing  a  painful  expression. 

"  Jest  look  at  him,  now.  He  looks  as  ef  he  war  leavin'  the 
Eastern  Sho'  for  the  last  time.  I  surpose  he  is  taken  an 
obsarvation  ev  the  lower  limb  ev  the  emensity  ev  space.  ^  It's 
only  lately,  I  resure  you,  that  he's  got  into  sech  a  philoso- 
phers] c  mood.  I'm  af eared  he  will  jump  overboard  some  of 
these  days,  or  do  himself  some  bodily  harm.  Please  don't  do 
anything  rash,  Sammy,  boy  ;  your  angel  mother  would  never 
find  it  in  her  heart  to  forgive  me  ef  anything  should  happen 
to  you." 

Such  a  tirade  as  this  made  the  boy  bite  his  lips. 

The  young  girl  saw  the  effects  of  the  badinage  of  the  old 
man,  and  once  more  pleaded  for  him,  telling  his  uncle  how  he 
had  watched  over  her  all  night  and  how  sensitive  he  was. 

"  I'm  sure  you  do  not  mean  any  harm  by  what  you  say ; 
but  it  hurts  his  feelings  very  much." 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  it  does.  But  he'll  git  all  over  it  afore  he's 
twice  married.  It  are  all  because  you  are  here  that  he  acts 
so.  But  as  I  war  sayin'  he  is  a  good  bo}^  arter  all,  and  on  the 
Evans  side  of  the  house  has  as  good  blood  and  family  as  flows 
in  the  veins  ev  any  'ristocrat  on  the  Eastern  Sho'." 

"  I  really  don't  know  how  I  shall  ever  reward  him  for  his 
kindness  to  me  last  night,"  said  the  girl. 


120  TOM  BURTON. 

^' You  must  bar  liini  and  we  uns  up  in  your  prars,  Miss. 
His  angel  mother  will  tliank  3^ou,  ef  he  doesn't. 

"  So  I  will,  Captain." 

"  Haul  out  that  ar  fried  chicken,  Sammy,  and  sassage. 
This  little  un  is  hungry,  by  this  time,  I  know.  Thar  are  some 
biskit  under  tliar  too.  You  may  jest  pass  me  the  bottle.  I 
think  a  good  pull  will  put  me  into  a  better  humor." 

"  I  wish  somethin'  would  stop  your  mouth,"  muttered  the 
boy  as  he  obeyed. 

The  lunch  was  spread  on  a  seat,  but  the  boy  refused  to  touch 
anything. 

"  Which  is  all  owin'  to  the  fact  of  your  presence.  Miss.  Ef 
you  wa'n't  here  he  would  eat  equalize  to  a  alligator,"  remarked 
Captain  Evans  as  he  wielded  the  back  of  a  chicken  very  dex- 
terously with  one  hand,  while  he  guided  the  canoe  with  the 
other. 

Thus  as  they  sat  and  chatted,  the  voyage  grew  nearer  and 
nearer  its  end ;  while  daylight  faded  into  twilight,  and  twi- 
light into  darkness,  and  the  great  sea  came  rolling  in  at  the 
capes,  as  it  did  two  hundred  and  Mty  3'ears  before,  wdien  old 
Sir  Christopher  i^J'ewport  sailed  up  the  roads 


CHAPTEPv  XY. 

THE    LITTLE    SISTER. 

The  well  known  camp-fire  of  the  coast-guard  guided  the 
blockader  to  his  welcome  and  secure  harbor,  where  he  safely 
landed  by  ten  o'clock  that  night.  The  hospitalities  of  the 
camp  were  graciously  bestowed  upon  the  female  passenger, 
and  in  the  morning  the  ambulance  was  loaded  up  as  formerly 
and  the  same  journey  undertaken  to  the  city,  as  we  have  be- 
fore described,  the  young  lady  bearing  its  fatigues  remarkably 
w^ell,  but  as  reticent  as  to  her  name  and  history  as  she  had 
been  at  the  landing,  from  whence  they  started. 

They  drove  into  the  city  earlier  than  on  the  former  oc- 
casion, having  made  the  journey  in  less  time. 

At  the  junction  of  Mariner  and  Church  streets,  the  un- 
known passenger  informed  her  friends  that  she  must  leave 
them,  as  she  had  business  with  the  pastor  of  St.  Marj^'s 
Catholic  Church.  She  was  profuse  in  her  thanks  for  the 
kindness  that  had  been  bestowed  upon  her,  almost  shedding 
tears  as  she  took  her  leave  •  and  charging  the  old  man  to  be 


TOM  BURTON.  V2l 

kind  to  the  boy,  she  took  her  leave  of  them,  carrying  a  small 
hand-satchel,  the  only  baggage  she  had  with  her.  Sammy 
looked  after  her  with  a  longing  gaze,  never  averting  his  at- 
tention until  she  had  disappeared  behind  the  corner  of  the 
street. 

Let  us  follow  her.  From  Mariner  Street  the  girl  proceeded 
on  her  way  to  Chapel  Street,  then  turning  south,  she  walked 
to  Holt  Street.  On  the  south  corner  of  the  latter  she  came  to  a 
beautiful  church,  the  tall  spire  of  which  seemed  to  pierce  the 
wintry  sky.  The  last  ra^'s  of  the  setting  sun  flooded  its 
gothic  facade  with  golden  light.  Surely  it  was  a  command- 
ing edifice,  with  its  pinnacled  eaves  and  artistic  proportions, 
inspiring  hope  in  the  breast  of  the  now  weary  stranger,  as 
she  halted  for  a  moment  and  gazed  with  awe-inspired  feelings 
upon  it.  A  few  steps  beyond,  and  to  the  rear  of  the  church, 
was  the  parsonage.  The  unknown  stopped  in  front  of  this 
house,  ascended  the  steps,  and  pulled  the  bell.  Before  doing 
so,  she  had  carefully  read  the  name  of  Eev.  John  OTarrel  on 
the  door-plate.  She  had  not  long  to  wait.  A  servant  met  her 
at  the  door  and  conducted  her  to  the  study  of  the  priest.  The 
rotund  and  jolly-looking  father  was  seated  at  a  table  in 
the  centre  of  the  room.  A  student  lamp,  ornamented  by 
figures  of  the  saints  on  the  shade,  a  profusion  of  periodicals, 
some  books,  a  crucifix  and  writing  materials  of  various  kinds, 
were  scattered  here  and  there  around  and  about  him.  Every- 
thing in  the  room  had  the  appearance  of  richness,  learning 
and  comfort.  The  priest  did  not  rise  from  his  seat,  but  mo- 
tioned the  girl  to  take  a  chair.  There  was  one  in  convenient 
reach  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table  from  where  he  sat. 
This,  the  weary-looking  visitor  gratefully  appropriated.  The 
churchman  regarded  her  in  silence,  as  if  waiting  to  hear  her 
story. 

"This  is  Father  O'Farrel,  I  believe  ?  '^ 

"  Yes  ;  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  '^  His  voice  was  gentle  and 
reassuring. 

"  Much,  Father,"  was  the  somewhat  emotional  reply. 

The  priest  noticed  the  earnestness  of  the  young  girl,  and 
betrayed  signs  of  awakening  interest  to  know  her  errand. 

"  I  would  be  a  Sister,"  she  said. 

"What  has  been  your  religious  training,  my  young  friend, 
and  who  and  where  are  your  parents  ?  " 

"  My  antecedents  are  Protestant.  In  replying  to  your 
other  question,  I  can  only  say  that  I  am  of  age.  Please  be 
kind  enough^  at  this  time,  to  spare  me  a  recital  of  my 
family  history.  On  some  future  occasion  I  will  be  pleased 
to  relate  it." 


122  TOM  BURTOK, 

"But  do  you  not  think,  my  child,  it  will  take  you  a  long 
time,  even  in  the  constant  use  and  practice  of  penance  and 
prayer,  to  fit  yourself  for  the  arduous  duties  of  a  Sister  of 
Charity  ?  '' 

"For  one,  Father,  who  has  made  up  her  mind  to  serve  God 
in  the  Church  of  his  Son,  and  through  the  mediation  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  I  feel  there  are  no  difficulties  too  great  to 
overcome  ;  no  cross  too  onerous  to  bear.  At  all  events,  I  am 
ready  for  the  sacrifice." 

"  Have  you  considered,  my  child,  how  hard  to  remove  are 
the  prejudices  of  early  education,  especially  in  matters  of  re- 
ligious faith  and  practice  ?  " 

"I  think  I  have  seriously  and  prayerfully  considered  all 
these  things.  To  present  myself  before  3'ou  for  this  work,  I 
must  say  (but  not  in  a  boastful  spirit)  I  have  braved  a  great 
many  dangers  and  hardships.     I  am  ready  to  endure  more." 

"  How  so,  my  child  ?     You  do  indeed  look  weary." 

"  I  have  come  many  miles,  some  of  them  by  sea,  in  an  open 
boat." 

"  Then  you  must  have  run  the  blockade  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  all  for  the  purpose  of  becoming  a  Sister  of  Charity  ?" 

"Yes,  Father." 

"  Surely  it  has  taken  some  faith  to  do  all  that,  m}^  little 
friend,  and  I  must  commend  you  for  your  zeal,  if  not  for  your 
discretion." 

"  When  G(M  calls,  sir,  he  has  no  respect  for  policy.  I 
want  to  become  His  servant.  I  have  left  the  vain  world  be- 
hind. My  past  life  has  been  one  of  turmoil  andunhappiness. 
If,  by  self-sacrifice  and  good  works  I  can  find  that  rest  for 
my  soul  which  I  seek,  I  shall  be  content.  If  I  cannot  find  it 
in  the  life  and  vocation  of  a  Sister  of  Charity,  it  is  not  for  me 
on  earth.     Please,  sir,  do  not  send  me  from  j'-ou." 

The  priest  seemed  to  reflect  a  moment.     He  resumed : 

"For  one  so  young  and  beautiful  as  you  appear  to  be,  your 
undertaking  is  a  serious  matter ;  I  might  say,  a  perilous  one. 
To  become  a  Sister  of  Charity  is  to  discover  a  character  ex- 
perienced, strong  in  fortitude,  and  thoroughly  disciplined. 
From  your  appearance,  your  life  has  not  been  a  severe  one, 
physically.  You  have  never  seen  any  rough  usage.  Sup- 
pose you  become  a  Catholic  and  leave  out  the  orders  ?  " 

"In  doing  that.  Father,  I  should  take  the  orders  in  my 
heart,  and  I  should  have  the  faith  without  the  works,  the 
burden  without  the  recompense.  I  can  afford  to  take  the 
risk.     By  and  by,   when  you  shall  have  become  acquainted 


TOM  BURTON.  123 

with  my  antecedents  and  family,  you  will  not  be  afraid  to 
trust  me.  I  shall  never  bring  reproach  upon  my  profession, 
or  disgrace  my  vows." 

"You  are  very  enthusiastic,  my  child,  and  your  conversa- 
tion shows  you  to  be  a  young  woman  of  good  breeding.  Are 
you  really  prepared,  at  your  age,  to  renounce  the  world  and 
all  its  vain  pomp  and  glory,  to  take  upon  yourself  the  solemn 
vows  of  chastity,  poverty  and  obedience,  with  all  the  sacrifice 
which  is  implied  by  the  adoption  of  a  life  such  as  these  vows 
impose  ?  To  tread  in  the  footsteps  of  the  Divine  Master,  even 
to  the  summit  of  Golgotha,  and  there  to  kneel,  with  the  other 
female  friends  of  the  Son  of  God,  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  in 
the  very  midst  of  his  crucifiers  ?  " 

"  If  I  were  not  resigned  to  such  a  service,  dear  father,  I 
had  never  crossed  the  water  to  come  to  you.  So  far  from 
dreading,  or  fearing  it,  I  welcome  it  as  the  surest  road  to 
happiness  here  and  hereafter,  which  is  said  to  be  the  chief 
end  of  man."     There  was  a  pause. 

'^  You  are,  I  believe,  a  Southern  lady  ?  " 

I  am  not  of  the  North." 
"  Have  you  not  with  us  all  looked  forward  to  the  time  not 
far  in  the  future  when  the  South  shall  have  gained  her  iu- 
dependence,  when  it  shall  be  so  remunerative  to  be  of  the  gay 
world  ;  when  the  chivalry  of  the  olden  times  shall  be  restored, 
and  the  young  Confederacy  become  the  most  favored  of  the 
nations  of  the  globe.  The  Church  even  rejoices  in  the  glory 
which  shall  come  to  her  in  that  event.  Would  you  care  to 
be  a  nun  then  ?  " 

''  Alas,  Father,  do  not  speak  to  me  of  the  war.  It  can  not 
affect  my  future,  end  as  it  may.  I  had  no  hand  in  its  begin- 
ings,  I  can  scarcely  have  a  wish  in  its  termination  except 
that  I  pray  God  to  bring  it  to  an  early  close,  that  the  agonies 
of  the  battle-field  may  be  averted,  and  peace  may  come  to  a 
distracted  country.  For  myself,  nothing  !  " 

"  We  scarcely  find  one  so  disinterested,  especially  one  of 
your  sex." 

"  To  nurse  the  sick  and  wounded  while  it  lasts  and  then  to 
retire  to  some  convent  where  there  is  rest,  is  all  that  I  de- 
sire." 

She  pronounced  the  word  rest  with  a  sigh  that  touched 
the  priest's  heart,  as  did  the  tears  which  started  from  her 
eyes. 

"  Poor  child,"  he  said,  sympathetically,  as  he  rose  from 
his  seat,  and,  walking  to  her  side,  placed  his  hand  upon  her 
head,  "  the  world  is  in4eed  hard  and  cold  to  one  whose  heart 


124  TOM  BURTON, 

is  as  tender  as  yours.  I  scarcely  know  wliat  to  say  to  you. 
The  life  you  seek  is  full  of  sacrifices.  Once  enlisted  in  this 
work,  and  wherever  the  Church  commands  you  to  go,  even 
though  it  be  into  the  very  jaws  of  death,  you  must  obey.  Are 
you,  indeed,  ready  to  give  up  your  entire  future  and  to  sanc-^ 
tify  yourself  entirely  to  the  work  of  Christ  ?  Can  you  bear 
to  see  yourself  grow  into  mature  womanhood,  with  all  a  wo- 
man's vanity,  and  all  a  woman's  matronly  desires  ungratified, 
and  then  to  relapse  into  old  age  and  decrepitude,  like  a 
barren  fruitless  tree,  with  no  living  friend  but  the  Church 
and  the  members  of  your  order  to  soothe  your  declining  life 
and  smooth  your  death-jjillow — I  say,  can  you  bear  all  this  ?  " 

The  solemn  manner  of  the  priest  filled  the  soul  of  the  girl 
with  awe,  but  did  not  shake  her  in  her  resolution. 

"  The  time  might  have  been,  but  never  has  come  into  my 
shattered  poor  life,  when  these  things  you  speak  of  might 
have  had  an  influence  over  me  in  casting  my  future.  As  I 
have  thus  far  escaped  such  temptations,  I  have  now  no 
fears." 

At  that  moment  her  rich  brown  hair,  but  imperfectly  cared 
for,  rolled  out  from  its  confines  and  flooded  her  with  a  crown 
of  glory. 

"  Even  this,"  said  the  priest,  in  the  same  solemn  voice, 
"  thou  must  part  with." 

She  cast  a  side-long  glance  at  the  flowing  tresses  which 
almost  enveloped  her  in  their  ample  magnitude,  and  again  a 
tear  sparkled  in  her  eye. 

The  priest  regarded  her  in  pitiful  silence.  It  seemed  as 
though  all  the  past  and  all  the  future  was  passing  before  the 
mind  of  the  suffering  girl. 

At  last,  falling  at  the  feet  of  the  man  of  Grod,  she  broke 
the  painful  silence.  "  Here,  Father,  cut  it  off  now,  I  am 
ready  at  this  moment  to  make  the  sacrifice." 

The  priest  was  touched  to  the  quick  at  the  girl's  simple 
devotion.     Taking  her  by  the  hand,  he  raised  her  to  her  feet. 

"  Poor  earth-bound  spirit,  I  am  ready  to  relieve  you  from 
your  anguish  and  help  you  all  I  can.  Put  up  your  hair  and 
prepare  to  follow  me  to  the  hospital  of  St.  Vincent  de 
Paul.  I  will  take  you  to  Sister  Matilda.  She  will  teach  you 
our  catechism,  and  so  soon  as  you  are  able  to  pass  the  neces- 
sary examination,  you  shall  be  admitted  into  the  sisterhood. 
Afterward,  if  jom  still  desire  to  enter  the  sisterhood,  you  may 
become  a  novice  for  the  term  of  five  years,  and  if  at  the  end 
of  that  time  3-ou  still  remain  a  faithful  child  of  the  Church, 
you  may  take  the  final  vows  and  be  received  into  full  connec' 


TOM  BURTOy.  125 

tion  with  the  order.     You  are  very  tired  now  and  need  re- 
pose.    Come  with  me,  my  child." 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

A  FRACAS. 

Whex  Claude  Walsingham  awoke  from  his  deep  stupor  on 
the  day  following  his  last  evening  with  the  lovely  Miss  But- 
tercup, he  could  scarcely  realize  his  whereabouts,  so  stupid 
had  he  been  in  the  Lethe  of  that  woman's  charms  and  her 
wine. 

But  whether  from  a  condition  of  physical  reaction  or  men- 
tal and  moral  conviction,  his  awakening  was  anything  but 
pleasant. 

His  slumber,  though  unbroken  as  that  of  an  infant,  had 
not  been  by  any  means  as  refreshing. 

Had  he  been  the  subject  of  nightmares  as  horrid  as  those 
of  Macbeth,  he  could  not  have  felt  more  sore  in  mind  and 
body  than  he  did. 

No  angels  had  whispered  to  him  whilst  he  slept,  no  inno- 
cent smiles  had  played  about  his  lips  in  response  to  their  vis- 
its. Strangely  enough,  his  waking  thoughts  were  not  of  Miss 
Buttercup,  nor  of  the  promised  time  when  she  would  be  all 
his  own.  There  seemed  to  impress  him  some  unwelcome  mem- 
ory, vague  and  uncertain  as  the  memory  of  some  unrecalled 
vision  of  the  night,  which  in  its  passing  had  furrowed  his 
brain  as  the  thunderbolt  furrows  the  forest  pine.  There 
were  cowardly  sensations  of  unkept  vows,  gaping  wounds  of 
dishonored  character,  and  feelings  of  soiled  and  tarnished  rep- 
utation. A  loathsome  meanness  seemed  to  creep  up  and 
down  his  form  like  hateful  vermin  or  poisonous  reptiles. 

He  arose  nervously  and  began  to  dress.  His  clothes  did 
not  fit.  They  were  rumpled  and  limpy,  and  several  times  he 
imagined  that  bugs  as  large  as  beetles  were  crawling  over 
them.  There  was  a  sweet  sickening  odor  about  them  that 
disgusted  him.  Without  waiting  to  take  a  bath,  he  threw  his 
coat  on  and  rushed  to  the  street.  He  found  a  saloon,  entered, 
and  called  for  brandy.  He  swallowed  it,  loathing  it  as  he  did  so. 
He  ordered  another  glass,  drank  that  with  a  better  ap- 
petite, waited  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  and  drank  again.  Then 
feeling  better,  he  went  back  to  his  boarding-house  to  break- 
fast.    By  this  time  his  nausea  had  abated,  his  eyesight  was 


126  TOM  BURTON. 

in  a  normal  condition  and  his  conscience  at  rest.  At  the 
boarding-house  he  met  his  old  friends,  Captain  Evans  and 
Sammy,  got  his  letters  and  learned  the  sad  news  of  the  burn- 
ing of  Moorefield  and  the  death  of  Mrs.  Moore.  The  news 
seemed  to  stun  him  at  first  and  he  sat  with  his  head  bowed 
down  as  if  lost  in  thought.  "  God,  it's  bad,  very  bad !  "  That 
is  what  he  said.  Then,  as  if  he  wished  to  it  all  put  out  of 
his  mind  completely,  he  said :  "  Come,  Evans,  let's  go  get  a 
drink." 

They  went  out  together,  drank  until  evening,  came  home 
to  dinner,  and  by  eight  o'clock  at  night  he  was  back  again  at 
Miss  Buttercup's,  having  left  old  Captain  Evans  in  a  state  of 
fury  at  his  unceremonious  departure  for  Ereemason  Street. 
He  had  not  returned  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

Meanwhile,  the  old  blockader,  disgruntled  as  a  bear  with  a 
pounded  head  and  quarrelsome  as  a  wet  hen  in  her  moulting 
season,  determined  to  paint  the  old  town  of  Norfolk  a  color  of 
deeper  hue  than  his  own  nose,  and  feeling  in  a  condition  to 
knock  down  and  drag  out  any  man  who  had  the  temerity  to 
stumble  across  his  path,  he  prevailed  on  several  of  the  officers 
boarding  at  229  to  accompany  him,  and  at  once  set  out  to 
have  a  circus  of  his  own.  It  was  already  eleven  o'clock  be- 
fore they  started. 

In  vain,  Sammy,  as  sober  as  a  judge  and  as  sleepy  as  a  boy 
could  well  be,  pleaded  with  his  uncle  not  to  go  out,  but  re- 
tire to  bed.  "I'm  jest  agoin'  out  with  the  boys,  Sammy, 
to  hev  a  little  spree,  and  j^ou  kin  jest  go  to  bed — hie — and  go 
to  sleep,  and  not  be  a  botherin'  arter  me.  I'll  be  back — hie — 
in  an  hour  or  two." 

"  Uncle,  you've  had  enough  to  drink  already,"  said  Sam- 
my, taking  the  risk  of  displeasing  his  already  intoxicated 
uncle. 

"  Samuel,  do  you  comprehend  who  it  is — hie — you  are  re- 
dressing ?  You  must  recollect  that  I  am  your  angel  mother's 
own  brother,  and  to  insult  him — hie — is  to  insult  your  own 
flesh  and  blood.  Ef  you  wants  to  retire  you  kin  do  so.  Ef 
it  is  your  retention  to  offer  any  revice  to  me — hie — in  regards 
to  my  conduct,  or  as  to  how  much,  or  how  little  I  am  to 
rebibe,  you  will  realize  that  silence  is  the  better  part  ev — hie — 
the  better  part  ev — hie — behavior,  for  a  boy." 

"  Well,  then,  uncle,  ef  you  is  retermined  to  go  I'm  agwine 
too.  You're  in  no  condition  to  go  on  the  street  at  this  time 
o'  night,  anyway." 

Now,  seaport  towns  have  always  some  bad  places  in  them, 
and  drunken  men  are  sure  to  find  them,     To  this  rule,  ouy 


TOM  mrnTon,  127 

city-by-tlie-sea  has  never   been    the    exception  in    its    most 
moral  days,  much  less  was  it  in  war  times. 

Those  who  know  will  bear  the  writer  out  in  the  assertion 
that  vice  of  certain  character  is  more  open-faced  and  brazen 
in  this  old  borough,  than  in  any  city  of  its  size  in  the  United 
States,  Cincinnati  not  excepted. 

What  must  it  not  have  been  in  the  last  days  of  1861  ? 

On  the  night  in  question,  Church  Street,  from  Main  to 
Water  Street,  was  a  seething,  surging  mass  of  corruption 
and  blasphemy.  All  day  long,  the  gaudily  attired  denizens 
of  that  brothel-quarter  had  sat  in  their  windows,  behind 
their  lace  curtains,  with  painted  faces,  and  endeavored  to 
entice  the  new  soldier  or  unsophisticated  country  lad,  into 
their  hellish  dens. 

Sawdusted  saloons,  with  their  whisky-reeking  odors  and 
voluptuous  pictures,  and  their  trained  parrots  shrieking  out 
their  coarse  and  vulgar  jargon,  yawned  to  swallow  up  the 
unwary  idler  as  a  shark  would  gulp  down  a  herring. 

Women  in  flowing  wrappers  and  dainty  slippers,  colored 
transoms  over  fancifully  painted  doors,  and  lasciviously 
frescoed  halls,  the  merry  sound  of  the  violin  and  tambourine, 
and  the  shuffling  of  many  feet  keeping  time  to  obscene 
music — all  lent  their  enticing  charms  to  a  scene  but  poorly 
described. 

As  night  came  on  to  make  the  picture  more  delightful 
still,  drunken  men  in  gangs  roamed  the  streets,  hitting  here 
and  stabbing  there,  and  women  crazed  with  liquor,  filled  the 
air  with  curses  or  thrilled  the  ear  wdth  their  hysterical 
shrieks. 

Half-way  down  Church  Street,  going  toward  Union,  was 
a  variety  show — a  sort  of  play-house,  where  tables  were  set, 
and  waiter  girls  dispensed  beer  and  other  drinks,  a  stage  on 
which  model  artists  posed,  and  negro  minstrels  sang,  in  the 
rear  of  which,  and  behind  the  curtain,  wine  flowed,  and  tlie 
coryphees  of  the  ballet  were  dandled  on  the  knees  of  their 
patrons.  Captain  Evans  and  his  posse  of  tipsy  friends, 
with  the  vouth  Sammy,  the  only  sober  one  in  the  lot,  made 
straight  for  this  den.  I  say  "  straight,"  the  word  does  not  con- 
vey the  meaning,  but  the  reader  can  catch  the  idea.  It  was 
nearly  time  for  the  play  to  break  up  when  they  arrived  there, 
and  many  of  the  sight-seers  had  departed,  but  those  who 
still  remained  were  noisy  and  drunken.  Bad  whisky,  loud 
songs,  and  louder  representations,  had  heated  the  blood  of 
the  vicious  habitues  of  the  place,  and  they  were  ready  "  to 
knock  down  and  drag  out "  at  the  slightest  provocation. 


128  TOM  BUBTOK. 

Captain  Evans  was  as  drunk  as  he  generally  got,  but  liad 
managed  to  keep  in  a  good  humor. 

"  Samuel,  Samuel — "  he  always  called  the  boy  Samuel 
when  he  was  in  his  cups — 

"  Samuel,  Samuel,  look  a-thar  at  that  gal  over  thar.  She 
are  as  good-lookin  as  j^our  little  black-eyed  'un  what  crossed 
the  bay  with  we  uns  last  night.     Hain't  she  though  ?  ' 

"  Hush,  uncle,  3''ou  don't  comprehend  what  you're  talkin' 
about.  Ef  you  wants  to  discourse  an3'thing,  don't  mention 
that  lady's  name  in  this  place.  She  are  too  good  a  gal  to  be 
thought  on  in  sich  a  hole  as  this." 

"  Samuel,  you  must  not  tell  your  old  uncle  to  hush.  Sich 
disrebedience  fer  a  lad  ev  your  age  is  be^-and  fergiveness, 
and  ef  you  open  j^our  mouth  to  reproof  me  again,  I  will  hit 
you  a  punch  in  the  jaw  or  my  name's  not  Revel  Evans."  He 
turned  to  his  companions  and  continued  : 

"  Come,  boys,  let's  have  some  beer.  It's  war  times,  and 
we  mought  jest  as  w^ell  be  gay  as  not.  Its  none  on  us  knows 
how  long  we  uns  will  be  here.  Some  Yankee  bullet  or  a 
small  twist  of  hemp  will  likely  settle  all  on  us  before  another 
Christmas.     So — 

'  Let  the  wide  world  wag  as  it  will, 

We'll  be  gay  and  happy  still, 
Happy  still — hie '  " 

"  Stop  that  are  howlin  thar,"  roared  a  tar-heel — a  regular 
cracker,  at  least  six  feet  tall. 

"Do  you  hear  that  clay-eatin  scoundrel,  a  blackguardin'  of 
your  poor — hie — old  uncle — hie — Samuel  ?  " 

"  Come,  uncle,  let's  go  to  the  boarding-house.  It's  a  shame 
fer  we  uns  to  be  in  such  a   place  as  this,  this  time  o'  night." 

"  Will  you  stand  that,  Samuel,  my  own  sister's  child,  and 
see  your  poor — old  uncle  'posed  on  by  a  d cracker  ?  " 

"  Come,  uncle.  There'll  be  a  row  here  to-night  and  you 
must  go  home." 

"You're  a  sneakin'  coward,  Sam — " 

"Who's  a  stinking  coward  ?"  again  roared  the  tar-heel, 
rushing  up  to  the  blockader. 

"  My  uncle  is  intoxicated  and  doesn't  know  what  he  is  say- 
ing. Please  excuse  him.  I  want  ter  git  him  to  go  home," 
said  Sammy. 

"  You  had  better  not  say  that  I  am  a  coward !  You 
jest  call  me  a  cracker  again,  and  I'll  smash  ye,"  said  the  un- 
appeased  Carolinian,  poking  his  fist  up  into  Captain  Evans' 
face. 


TOM  BURTON.  129 

"What  do  you  mean  by  insulting  an  Eastern  Sho'  gentle- 
man, you  dirt-eatin',  yellow-fin,  tar-heel,"  replied  Captain 
Evans,  pugnaciously ;  and  as  he  spoke  he  made  a  pass  at  the 
Carolinian,  brushing  the  stump  of  a  cigar  from  his  mouth, 
setting  fire  to  his  heavy  mustache. 

The  tar-heel  recovered  himself  as  soon  as  his  intoxicated 
condition  would  admit,  and  staggering  up  to  his  aged  adver- 
sary, gave  him  such  a  stunning  blow  that  the  old  fellow  went 
to  the  ground. 

Sammy  was  for  a  moment  irresolute,  but  only  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then,  with  the  ferocity  of  a  tiger  robbed  of  her 
whelj^s,  he  pitched  into  his  uncle's  assaulter  and  fought  hand- 
over-fist, without  method  or  science,  but  with  terrible  effect, 
and  beat,  bruised,  and  mangled  the  luckless  offender  until  his 
mother  would  have  failed  to  recognize  him. 

At  this  juncture  ensued  a  terrible  riot.  Canes,  knives, 
beer  bottles,  and  pistols  were  used  with  indiscriminate  reck- 
lessness, and  many  serious  wounds  were  inflicted  before  the 
police  could  muster  force  enough  to  stop  the  ensanguined 
affray.  Captain  Evans,  perhaps  the  most  drunken  man  in 
the  lot,  was  the  least  hurt  of  all ;  and  during  the  excitement 
attending  the  melee,  managed  to  crawl  out  from  among  the 
fighters,  and  with  his  friends  reached  the  boarding-house 
near  morning. 

But  Sammy  was  by  no  means  as  fortunate.  With  two 
black  eyes  and  a  broken  rib,  the  boy  was  snatched  up  by  the 
officers  and  marched  off  to  the  station. 

When  Captain  Evans  awoke  next  morning,  as  fresh  and 
jolly  as  if  he  had  slept  all  night  and  had  never  seen  a  drop  of 
whisky  in  his  life,  he  was  shocked  to  find  that  Sammy  was 
missing.  "  That  boy  is  locked  up,  sure.  This  is  all  werry 
misfortionable,  and  nobody's  fault  but  mine.  I  orter  been 
kicked  afore  gittin'  him  in  sich  a  scrape.  Ef  I  had  a  listened 
to  him,  this  mought  not  hev  recurred." 

So  much  was  he  troubled  that  he  could  not  partake  of  any 
breakfast,  and  as  soon  as  he  thought  the  maj'or's  court  was 
in  session,  he  repaired  thither  with  his  pockets  well  crammed 
with  the  money  of  the  day,  sure  in  his  mind  that  a  few  dol- 
lars would  be  the  extent  of  the  punishment,  and  he  would  be 
allowed  to  take  his  nephew  back  with  him  to  lunch. 

He  was  not  long  in  finding  out  that  Sammy  was  arrested, 
and  being  told  to  wait,  he  sat  himself  down  in  the  court-room 
until  his  honor  appeared. 

■'  Your  boy  is  charged  with  inciting  a  riot  at  the  Varieties 
last  night;  or  rather  this  morning,  sir,'^  said  the  mayor  upon 


130  TOM  BURTON, 

taking  his  seat.  "And  furthermore,  the  charge  seems  to  be 
pretty  fully  sustained.  It  was,  sir,  a  very  serious  affair. 
How  many  people  were  hurt  was  not  ascertained.  Several 
were  cut  and  are  now  in  the  city  hospital.  The  charge  is  a 
serious  one,  and  will  go  hard  with  the  young  man,  I'm 
afraid." 

Captain  Evans  stood  with  his  head  bowed  over  the  railing 
which  divided  the  impersonation  of  justice  from  the  common 
rabble,  and  listened  sorrowfully  to  the  remarks  of  the  mayor. 

"But  your  honor,  he  are  nothiu'  more  nor  a  child,  and  it 
war  all  my  own  fault,  jedge." 

"A  prett}^  big  boy  to  beat  a  man  like  the  one  I  saw.  As 
to  whose  fault  it  was,  that's  another  thing."  Then  turning 
to  one  of  the  officers  who  was  present  when  the  arrest  was 
made,  he  inquired :  "  What  sort  of  a  chap  is  this  one  you 
arrested  ?  " 

"  A  big,  strapping  fellow,  sir  ;  as  strong  as  a  mule  and  as 
supple  as  a  cat.  Why,  your  honor,  it  took  six  of  us  to  put 
him  in  irons.     He's  a  rowdy,  sir,  of  the  first  water." 

Captain  Evans  straightened  himself  up  slowly,  and 
measuring  the  officer  up  and  down,  said  : 

"  You  are  a  dirty  liar  !  and  ef  you  war  not  in  this  temple 
ev  jestis,  I  would  smash  the  life  outen  ye  ! " 

"Silence,  sir.  How  dare  you  use  such  language  in  this 
place.  From  your  conduct,  sir,  you  are  not  a  whit  better 
than  your  nephew.  If  you  are  not  careful,  I  will  have  you 
taken  care  of  also." 

"  I  most  respectfully  beg  your  honor's  pardon,"  apologized 
Captain  Evans,  with  a  profound  obeisance,  "  but  that  poor 
boy  are  as  innercent  as  yerself,  jedge." 

"This  is  bosh,"  retorted  his  honor.  "My  men  are  truth- 
ful, and  I  will  not  allow  them  to  be  brow-beaten  in  my  pres- 
ence. You  Eastern  Shoremen  come  here  to  this  city,  get 
drunk,  and  think  you  can  do  as  jow.  please.  The  boy  is  guilty, 
and  will  have  to  suffer  his  punishment." 

"Well,  well,  jedge;  I  see  as  how  you  uns  is  all  in  cohoot, 
aftd  I  mought  as  well  settle  it.  How  much  is  the  fine,  sir  ?  " 
and  Captain  Evans  out  with  his  wallet. 

"  This  court  doesn't  take  bribes,  old  man.  The  sentence  is 
that  your  nephew  serve  in  the  chain-gang  for  thirty  daj^s." 

"Gineral  Jackson  and  Pocahontas  !  jedge  ;  you  is  the  un- 
kindest  and  unjustest  man  I  ever  saw." 

"  Hush  up  your  abuse,  I  tell  you.  This  is  a  light  sen- 
tence for  the  offense,  and  if  j^ou  don't  like  it,  he  can  appeal  to 
court  and  be  sent  up  to  the  penitentiary  for  six   months  or  a 


TOM  BURTON.  131 

year.     Do  you  understand  that  ?    Come,  now,  step  aside." 

"  And  all  my  own  fault,"  groaned  Captain  Evans.  "  What 
will  his  angel  mother  say  to  me  ef  I  go  back  without  him. 
Jedge,  this  is  misfortionable.  That  boy  is  the  only  son  of 
my  sister.  She  is  an  'umman  what  is  a  Christian.  Ef  she 
hears  her  son  is  sarvin'  in  the  chain  gang,  it  will  kill  her  sure, 
Jedge.     This  is  a  werry  hard  case." 

The  contrite  manner  of  the  old  sailor  had  some  effect  upon 
the  Mayor.  In  a  kinder,  but  no  less  authoritative  tone,  he 
said: 

"There  is  one  way  to  get  out  of  this  trouble.  They  are 
enlisting  men  for  Eoanoke  Island.  If  your  nephew  will  en- 
list in  the  army,  I  will  let  him  off  with  a  fine  of  ten  dollars  ; 
otherwise,  I  tell  you  plainly,  sir,  once  for  all,  he  must  go  in 
the  chain-gang." 

"  You  are  werry  kind,  jedge,"  replied  Captain  Evans  with 
an  accent  on  the  word  "  kind."  "  Eor  an  Evans,  death  are 
preferable  to  dishonor.  Ef  that  is  your  recision,  I  suppose 
we  uns  has  nothin'  more  to  do  than  rebide  by  it.  Kin  I  see 
the  boy  a  moment  ?  " 

"Yes.  Here,  sergeant,  take  this  man  into  the  jail  and  let 
him  see  his  nephew — the  boy  that  was  arrested  this  morning 
for  rioting  on  Church  Street,  and  see  that  the  fellow  does  not 
escape.     This  old  man  is  cunning  and  will  bear  watching." 

Captain  Evans  looked  as  if  he  only  lacked  an  opportunity  to 
make  his  honor  take  back  such  an  imputation  upon  his  char- 
acter, but  did  not  deign  to  make  reply. 

At  sight  of  Sammy,  lying  on  a  pallet  of  straw,  and  looking 
none  the  more  respectable  on  account  of  the  night's  fracas, 
the  old  man  knelt  down  on  the  floor  beside  him  and  wept  like 
a  child. 

"'  Jest  to  think,  my  boy,  that  your  good-for-nothin'  old 
uncle  war  the  cause  of  all  this.  Oh,  Sammy,  this  is  werry  mis- 
fortionable.   Ef  I  had  jest  rebayed  j^ou,  poor  boy,  poor  boy  !  " 

The  old  man's  grief  was  genuine,  and  affected  the  boy,  who 
wept  also. 

"  Let  you  and  me  git  outen  this  dirty  place  and  go  home, 
uncle.     I'm  tired  ev  the  war  and  Xorfolk  too." 

"  Go  home  !  "  repeated  the  old  man.  "  Go  home  !  0  Lord, 
Sammy,  I  wish  we  mought.  I've  got  you  into  a  miserable 
scrape,  my  boy.  The  senternce  are  that  you  must  take  your 
place  in  the  chain-gang,  or  go  inter  the  army,  one  or 
t'other." 

"  Then  I'll  go  inter  the  army,"  said  Sammy,  without  hesi- 
tation.    "  Where  will  they  send  me,  uncle  ?  " 


132  TOM  BURTON, 

"They  say  to  Eoanoke  Island." 

"  Well,  uncle,  you  go  home  and  tell  mammy.  Tell  her  to 
pray  fer  me — "  and  he  could  say  no  more. 

"  Me,  go  home  arter  gittin  you  in  this  fix  ?  Me,  go  home  ? 
What  would  yer  angel  mother  say,  Sammy?  No,  siree. 
Whar  you  go  I'm  agwine,  and  when  I  return  to  the  Eastern 
Shore,  you  will  go  with  me.  We  uns  will  go  together  or  not 
at  all." 

Then  the  old  man  bowed  his  head  and  groaned. 

"  Never  you  mind,  uncle ;  don't  take  on  so  sorrowful.  I 
hates  ter  see  an  old  man  in  trouble.  I  hev  no  doubt  it's  all 
for  the  best.  I  couldn't  hev  kept  outen  the  war  much  longer, 
anyhow.  They  would  soon  hev  rescripted  me,  j^ou  know,  and 
then  I'd  had  to  go.  But  you  is  too  old.  They  will  not  relow 
you  to  foller  me." 

"Never  mind,  Sammy,  I  will  work  that  ar  part.  Kely 
upon  it,  ef  you  goes  inter  the  army,  I  goes ;  so  thar,  now,  let 
that  matter  rest.  I  knows  Gineral  Wise,  and  so  fur  am  in 
good  luck,  arter  all." 

"Well,"  said  the  officer,  "how  long  do  you  intend  to  be 
parlarbering  there  over  that  prisoner.  I  can't  stand  here  all 
day  and  wait  for  you  to  get  over  your  blubbering." 

It  was  a  savage  look  the  old  man  cast  at  the  speaker,  but, 
turning  to  the  boy,  he  mildly  said  : 

"We  uns  is  caged,  Sammy.  I  suppose  when  we  uns  has 
their  hand  inter  the  lion's  mouth,  we  uns  must  git  it  out  as 
easy  as  posserble.  So  good-bye,  my  dear  boy ;  and  you  may 
depend  upon  me  to  settle  all  this  business  according  to  Gun- 
ter." 

Then  straightening  himself  up  to  his  full  height  and  shak- 
ing his  massive  frame  like  an  awakened  giant,  he  remarked  to 
the  officer : 

"  And  now  you  dough-faced — " 

Sammy  raised  himself  from  his  straw  and  caught  him  by 
the  coat-tail. 

"  Hold  on,  uncle,  easy  licks,  kill  the  devil.  Ef  you  git 
inter  trouble  too  it'll  be  werry — " 

"  Misfortionable,"  finished  the  old  man. 

"  Suppose  you  trow  him  a  quarter,  uncle.  I  hev  one  or  two 
more  words  to  say  to  you  afore  we  part." 

The  captain  took  a  dollar  bill  from  his  pocket  and  handed 
it  to  the  officer. 

"  This  pays  for  five  minutes  more." 

"Hurry  up,  then." 

"I  was  going  to  say  somethin',"  began  Sammy — "'oh,  yes. 
How  about  the  cunner,  uncle  ?  " 


TOM  BURTON,  133 

"Let  her  rest  her  wear^ bones  wharshe  is  Sammy.  When 
we  uns  come  back  we  uns  will  find  her  thar.  She  is  well 
secure." 

"  And  the  gal,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  the  gal,  Sammy.  You  can't  disremember  the 
gal,  kin  you,  Sammy  ?  Well,  I'll  tell  you  all  I  knows  about 
the  gal.  She  said  as  how  she  war  gwine  to  be  a  Sister  of 
Charity,  and  I  s'pecs  you  kin  see  her  when  you  gits  outten 
here,  and  your  face  gits  well.  Howsomever,  that  is  a  small 
matter." 

"  She  war  nice,  uncle,  and  every  time  I  thinks  of  her 
sweet  face,  my  heart  comes  right  up  into  my  mouth,  and  I 
almost  cry.  Ef  I  mought  see  her  once  more  afore  I  die  I 
would  be  satisfied,  uncle,"  and  as  the  boy  said  this  he  turned 
over  and  hid  his  face. 


PART    IV. 

CHAPTER     XYII. 

TEX  ACRES  AXD  A  MULE. 

The  once  pleasant  sight  of  Moorefield  lay  like  a  dreary 
waste. 

Two  tall  bare  chimneys,  shivering  in  the  cold  winter  wind, 
a  few  cinders  and  ashes  at  their  base,  the  negro  quarters  and 
the  out-houses,  were  all  that  was  left  of  the  once  hospitable 
and  grand  old  mansion. 

Here  the  Moores  had  lived  for  many  past  generations,  as 
the  tombs  in  one  corner  of  the  yard  indicated ;  some  of  them 
dating  back  to  the  time  when  "  Sir  John  Moore  ye  first  of 
Essex,  England,  departed  this  life  ye  seconde  day  of  Octo- 
ber, in  ye  yeare  of  Grace  one  thousand  six  hundred  and  fifty, 
in  ye  Fortj'-fifth  j-eare  of  his  Age. 

All  was  ruin  and  devastation  now.  A  stray  fowl,  a  lean 
pig,  a  crippled  dog,  which  looked  like  Uncle  Daniel's,  lying 
under  the  thicket,  warming  his  attenuated  body  in  the  sun- 
shine, were  about  all  the  living  things  to  be  seen  around  the 
premises.  A  small  volume  of  blue  smoke  rising  from  one  of 
the  hunchback  chimneys  of  the  smallest  of  the  quarter,  show- 
ed that  at  least   some   one  was  sojourning  there,     Withiu 


134  TOM  BURTON. 

this  lowly  hovel  was  living  the  only  human  souls  of  all  the 
large  bustling  family  which  once  inhabited  Moorefield  with 
its  thousands  of  acres  ;  and  of  all  its  flocks  and  herds  not  one 
remained.  Old  Uncle  Daniel  and  Susie  the  witch  were  hero 
ensconced.  The  latter,  in  this  her  ninetieth  year,  the  happy 
bride  of  the  new  lord  and  master  of  the  old  manor.  If  ever  a 
war  in  all  history  can  boast  of  a  greater  transformation,  it 
has  never  been  the  writer's  privilege  to  read  of  it.  But  the 
picture  is  as  true  to  facts  as  the  noonday  sun  is  to  nature. 

Old  Uncle  Daniel  and  Susie  the  witch  being  left  alone  in 
this  wide  world,  determined  to  put  their  fortunes  together,  and 
without  parson  or  ceremony,  declared  themselves,  as  was  the 
fashion  of  their  kind,  man  and  wife,  and  set  up  at  house- 
keeping in  the  cottage  aforesaid,  subsisting  on  whatever  came 
in  their  way,  and  what  the}^  could  pick  up  about  the  camp,  to 
which  they  paid  frequent  visits. 

Marrying  had  not  improved  the  face  of  the  bride,  or  added 
much  toward  straightening  the  kinks  out  of  her  back,  but 
the  thought  of  freedom  and  the  promise  of  ten  acres  of  her 
old  master's  rich  land  and  a  mule,  had  worked  wonders  in  her 
powers  of  activity  and  locomotion.  Superannuated  for  years, 
and  put  off  on  another  farm  to  keep  the  quarters  and  look 
after  the  babies  of  the  mothers  who  were  in  the  field,  this 
old  creature  had  not  done  a  stroke  of  work  for  her  owner  for 
a  quarter  of  a  century. 

Now  she  was  not  only  a  bride,  but  could  step  off  ten  miles 
with  the  best  of  her  colored  friends,  and  jump  as  high  at 
prayer-meeting  as  any  of  the  brothers  and  sisters. 

Happ3^  Susie  and  lucky  Daniel !  Tor  them  the  year  of  ju- 
bilee had  surely  come,  and  they  had  at  last  found  a  home  of 
their  own ! 

A  glance  into  their  humble  quarters  failed,  however,  to  dis- 
cover anything  to  remind  one  of  a  honeymoon. 

The  bride  was  boiling  hominy  and  baking  johnny-cake  be- 
fore the  fire,  and  the  groom  sitting  over  in  the  corner  making 
a  mat  of  corn  husks.  There  was  an  expression  of  thankful- 
ness in  the  face  of  the  old  man,  whether  for  the  gift  of  free- 
dom or  the  wife,  was  hard  to  tell ;  but  the  interesting  face  of 
the  witch  had  really  more  of  devilment  than  either  joy  or  grat- 
itude. As  they  both  worked  away  at  their  respective  occu- 
pations, they  occasionally  indulged  in  conversation,  but  in  a 
tone  more  like  that  which  is  heard  between  folks  wdio  have 
not  only  outlived  all  the  mellific  sweets  of  many  moons,  but 
even  ceased  to  celebrate  the  anniversary  of  their  happy  union. 

^'  Fore  m^  blessed  Marster^  Daniel,  this  here  am  de  ^ear  of 


TOU  BURTOX.  135 

Jubelo  sure  'nuff.  Ole  Missus  gone,  ole  marster  gone  and  nO' 
body  lef  but  Miss  Kate,  an  she  no  better  nor  dead.  I  alius 
told  3^ou  niggers  what  dat  ar  uns  'twas  comin\  You,  all  un 
you,  tought  ole  Susie  was  a  fool,  now  you  see.  Dat's  what 
good  dar  is  in  bein  a  fortun'-teller,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ole  Massa  he  couldn't  stan  de  loss  ob  his  ole  'umman 
so  he  take  and  die  too.  He's  gone  to  jine  her  in  de  promise 
Ian'.     I  is  real  sorry  fer  dem  all.     Seems  so  bad — '^ 

"  Hush  up,  you  ole  fool,  Dan'l,  you  alius  would  be  a  con- 
founded ole  hypercrit.  What  you  want  ter  pity  dem  white 
folks  fer  ?  De  Lord  hab  come  now  and  'liberd  us,  and  you  set- 
tin'  here  an'  a  pityin'  dem  same  as  ef  dey  was  any  'count. 
Y"ou  is  de  biggest  fool,  Dan'l,  I  ever  did  see  in  my  born 
days." 

"Now,  you  jest  shut  up,  Susie.  White  folks  am  some  ac- 
count, and  niggers  better  b'lieve  it.  IMany's  de  time  ole  Mas- 
sa hab  give  me  drink  ob  whisky,  and  Missus  been  kind  and 
give  me  flour  bread.  I  kain't  help  bein'  sorry  ter  see  so  much 
'struction.  Look  all  round  dis  here  place  and  see  ef  you  can 
'joice  in  your  heart  ober  de  sight.  Go  back  wid  ole  Dan'l  fif- 
teen, twenty,  sixty  3'ears  ago,  what  gloyous  times  we  used  to 
have.  Dan'l  was  young  den,  jest  like  ole  Massa,  (de  j^oung 
Massa  den)  and  we  chillun  used  to  play  wid  one  anudder, 
and  ole  Massa  'twas  den,  used  ter  go  fox  liuntin' ;  and  den  de 
hog  killin'  and  de  sausage  stuffin'  and  de  big  parties  and  balls 
and  de  eggnog  !  Now  dar  all  gone  ;  and  de  great  house  itself 
gone.  Susie,  ef  you  can  'joice  over  dat  you  is  no  Christian.  Y"ou 
is  a  heathener." 

"  'Joice  !  you  old  dish  rag ;  whar  would  you  be  dis  very  day 
ef  you  wasn't  free  ?  Out  dar  in  dat  corn  field  ;  dat's  wher 
you'd  be  wid  de  o'erseer  at  your  heels  a  slashin'  ob  your  back. 
Dat's  what  you  'lights  in  Dan'l.  You  wants  ter  go  back  in- 
ter slavy  you  does.  You  calls  yoself  my  husban'  and  talks 
like  dat.  You  is  no  husban'  of  mine,  Daniel,  ef  dat's  de  way 
3^ouse  gwine  ter  do.  You  want  ter  be  tied  up  to  de  cart  wheel 
and  thrashed  fer  stealin'  shoats  agin.     Y^es,  jou  does,  Dan'l." 

"But,  Dan'l  never  stole  chickens  nor  geese  nuther." 

"Dat  doesn't  signify.  Ef  you  means  me,  I  'knowledge  I 
stole  dem  and  turkeys  too.  Y^ou  think  I  'low  one  ole  goose 
to  'vide  me  and  my  Savior  ?  You  is  too  bigoty  to  talk  to, 
Dan'l.  When  you  gits  jour  mule  and  your  ten  acres  of  Ian' 
den  you  'gin  to  'preciate  the  blessins  ob  freedom." 

"  Y'es,  yes,  ole  Massa  gone,  ole  Missus  gone,  all  de  chillun 
'cept  Miss  Catherine,  and  she  crazy,  dey  saj-,  all  de  niggers 
run  away,  and  me  and  the  old  witch,  lord  and  paromack  of  all 


136  "J^OM  BFRTOX. 

ole  Massa's  property.  Seems  too  much  ter  b'lieve,"  went  on 
the  old  man,  no  longer  paying  any  attention  to  the  compli- 
mentary remarks  of  Mrs.  Daniel. 

"  Well,  Dan'l,  ef  you  wants  ter  be  a  clog,  you  can  be  one 
that's  all.  Susie  am  a  free  'umman  and  alius  'spects  to  be," 
and  she  sang  at  the  top  of  her  squeaking  voice  : 

For  de  year  of  Jubelo  am  come," 

An'  de  niggers  dey  be  a  marchin'  home." 

They  had  been  so  busy  talking  their  happy  subjects  of 
H3'men,  that  they  had  not  heard  the  hoofs  of  Colonel  Bur- 
ton's horse  as  he  rode  up  in  the  yard,  and,  dismounting,  was 
already  on  the  door  block. 

"It's  Massa  Colonel.  Come  in,  Massa  Burton,  we's  glad  ter 
see  you.  How  is  j^ou  ter-day  ?  "  was  uncle  Daniel's  salutation, 
as  he  rose  and  hobbled  across  the  shanty  to  take  the  Colonel 
by  the  hand. 

"  Oh,  first-class,  Daniel.     How  are  you  and  your  wife  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  'uns  quite  well.   Only  have  a  word  now  and  den." 

"  Marster  Colonel,  what  I  wants  ter  know,  is  we  cullud 
folks  free  or  no  ?     Dat's  what  I  and  Dan'l  fuss  about." 

"  Well,  Susie,  it  looks  ver}^  much  like  it.  All  contrabands 
are  subject  to  confiscation.  I  think  I'll  make  contrabands  of 
you  two  and  set  3'ou  both  free." 

"  Dar  den,  I  done  tole  you  so,  Dan'l." 

"  And,  Marster  Burton,  you'se  gwine  ter  give  us  dat  mule 
and  de  ten  acres  ob  ground,  ain't  j'ou." 

"  What  mule  ?  " 

"  Dat  mule  de  Yankees  promis'  us." 

"  I  know  nothing  of  any  mule  or  ten  acres  of  ground." 

"  Dar,  ole  'umman,  I  tole  3'ou  so,"  was  Uncle  Daniel's  ex- 
ultant da  capo. 

"  Dat  ole  fool  sets  dar  all  day,  tryin  to  niake  me  'blieve 
we  uns  not  free." 

"You  see,  Massa  Colonel  Burton,  Susie  is  gittin 'long  old, 
and  we  has  ter  make  'lowances  fer  her.  I  jest  tell  yer,  Massa 
Burton,  we  niggers  ain't  white — neber  will  be.  We  uns 
got  to  look  up  to  de  white  folks  same  as  ever.  White  folks' 
powerful.     Can  crush  us  in  the  yearth." 

"  In  that  idea,  Daniel,  you  are  correct.  Your  best  interest 
will  be,  for  j^ears  to  come,  to  keep  on  the  best  of  terms  with 
your  former  masters.  They  will,  no  doubt,  feel  very  bitter 
toward  you  at  first,  but  that  bitterness  will  die  out,  and  by 
and  by  you  will  both  be  good  friends.  I  suppose  you  were 
sorry  to  hear  of  your  old  master's  sudden  death  ?  " 


TOM  BUliTON.  ;[37 

'•'  Oh,  yes,  Massa  Burton.  Poor  ole  massa  couldn't  stan 
de  loss  ob  all  his  niggers,  den  his  house,  and  las'  but  not  lees, 
his  ole  'umnian.  How  'bout  Miss  Catherine,  Massa  Burton, 
whar  is  her  ?  " 

"  She  is  at  Doctor  Savage's,  Daniel,  very  low,  indeed.  Her 
affliction  is  very  great." 

"  Yes,  Massa,  dat   it    is,  an    I  pities  her.     You  mus'  take 
good  care  on  her,  Massa  Burton,  kase  she  haint  got  any  fader 
nor  mudder  now,    nur   cullud  peojjle,    nur    nuffen.     Will  de 
ole  place  hab  to  be  sole  ?  " 
"  It  looks  so  now,  Daniel." 

"  Yes,  and  you  too,  you  'tarnal  fool,"  put  in  the  witch. 
"Hush  your  mouf,  Susie.  When  de  white  folks  talk,  you 
jest  take  a  back  seat.  Dey  say  as  how  her  'tended  over  dar 
in  Dixie  is  gwine  mighty  fas',  gettin'  drunk  and  all  sich  as 
dat.  I  spec  he'll  furget  Miss  Catherine  over  dar  mongst  all 
dem  fine  ladies.  She  all  'lone  now,  Massa  Burton,  and.  you 
mus'  take  mighty  good  care  ob  her." 

"That's  all  right,  Daniel.  What  I  wished  to  see  you 
about  was  this  :  I  want  you  to  keep  a  close  watch  on  *the 
creek,  and  if  you  see  anything  going  on,  let  me  know.  I"ll 
see  if  I  can't  catch  that  sly  fox  of  a  blockader  yet." 

"^J?  ay,  Massa  Colonel.  Hab  you  got  a  chaw  of  terbacker 
for  de  ole  man  ?  " 

"  Yes,  here  is  a  pound  I    bought  expressly  for  you." 
"  Thank  God,  and  thank  you  too." 

"  I  want  you  also  to  remain  here  and  look  out  for  the  place, 
the  out-houses,  etc.,  and  in  the  spring  I  will  see  if  I  can  pro- 
cure you  a  mule,  and  let  you  go  to  work,  and  see  if  you  can 
make  a  living  for  yourself." 

"Dar,  den,  I  done  tole  you  'bout  dat  mule,  vou  ole  dummy," 
again  put  in  the  bride,  as  she  turned  her  johnny-cakes. 

"Meanwhile,  "  continued  Colonel  Burton,  "you  may  con- 
tinue to  come  to  head-quarters  for  your  rations,  and  if  you 
can't^  manage  this  old  woman,  let  me  know." 

"Yah,  yah,  Massa  Colonel,  she  is  right  smart  hard  to  git 
along  wid,  but  she'll  git  more  sense  by  and  bv.  When  she 
gits  her  mule  and  her  ten  acres  ob  Ian',  she  will  be  happy  as  a 
clam  at  high  water,  as  de  say  in  is,  yah,  yah !  " 

"  An'  go  ter  work  again  for  de  white  folks  ?  Xebber." 
"But   how    do  you   expect  to   live,    old    woman,    without 
work  ?     remonstrated  the  Colonel. 

"I  nebber  'spected  to  hab  to  work  in  de  year  ob  Jubelo. 
Fore  my  soul  and  body  ef  I  'spected  to  hab  work  den.  Ef  dat 
IS  de  case,  I  think  we  uns  better  go  back  inter  slavery  agin. 


138  TOM  BURTON. 

Dat  ain't  no  freedom.  We  used  to  could  git  a  goose  now  and 
den,  and  ole  Daniel  dar  was  purty  goodarter  shoats,  but'tain't 
nuffen  to  git  now,  not  even  a  fryin'  chicken." 

"  Hush,  Susie,  hain't  you  ashame  to  go  on  in  dat  way, 
right  afore  Massa  Burton.  You  and  me  orter  be  satisfied  wid 
what  we  uns  got.  All  dis  grumlin'  case  we  hain't  got  de 
yearth,  is  kontrar}'- to  de  Scripture,  which  saj^s :  "By  de 
sweat  ob  de  brow,  dow  mus'  yearn  dy  bread.  You  is  like  the 
boy  what  got  de  skunk  in  de  gum  and  didn't  know  what  to 
do  wid  it.  You'se  got  jowv  freedom  and  now  y©u  isn't  satis- 
fied. You  got  your  husband,  an'  now  you'se  all  de  time 
agrowlin'.  Ef  you  don't  hush  up  I'll  'ply  fer  a  'vorce,  'pon  my 
soul  I  will." 

As  Colonel  Burton  walked  out  of  the  hut  into  the  yard  he 
looked  at  the  desolation    around  him,  and  felt  sad  at   heart. 

"  0,  war,  thy  ravages  are  fearful  to  contemplate,"  he 
ejaculated.  "Like  a  pestilence  thou  sweepest  the  earth  as 
with  a  besom  of  destruction  !  Where  are  all  the  busy  feet 
that  used  to  tread  these  old  haunts  ?  Where  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  past  generations  who  gathered  here  on  gala 
days  and  reveled  in  social  pleasures,  never  in  any  land  so 
enjoyable  ?  How  the  tables  used  to  groan  under  the  weight 
of  the  richest  viands  !  And  here  was  hospitality  for  all. 
Yes,  all  but  a  Burton  !  " 

The  teeth  of  the  speaker,  involuntarily  closed  with  a  grip, 
did  not  immediately  relax.  He  turned  about  suddenly, 
mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  away  at  a  flying  gallop. 

It  was  all  so.  When  they  took  the  news  of  the  loss  of  his 
wife  and  property  to  Colonel  Moore,  he  fell  into  a  swoon  from 
which  he  never  rallied.  The  freed  soul  took  its  flight  from 
the  imprisoned  body. 

Kate  was  removed  from  the  scene  of  the  conflagration  in 
a  condition  as  near  to  death's  door  as  one  could  be  and  live. 
She  recovered  consciousness,  but  her  mind  for  many  days  was 
wavering  and  flighty.  She  was  the  object  of  great  solicitude 
on  the  part  of  Colonel  Burton,  who,  without  asking  the  consent 
of  any  one,  made  it  his  purpose  to  see  that  she  lacked  no  atten- 
tion until  she  was  convalescent. 

When  Miss  Kate  had  so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able  to  leave 
her  bed,  he  cut  his  attentions  short,  and  only  kept  track  of 
his  ward  by  calling  at  the  gate  occasionally,  and  making  in- 
quiries as  to  her  health.  This  course  was  necessary  as  well 
on  account  of  himself,  as  Miss  Moore. 

Dr.  Savage  was  a  hot  rebel,  and  the  Colonel's  calls,  though 
politely  received,  were  not  by  any  means  encouraged,  nor  did 


TOM  nxinfoif.  lg§ 

Miss  Savage,  nor  Miss  Blake,  nor  any  of  the  school-girls,  even 
so  much  as  notice  the  Federal  officer. 

The  loss  of  his  sister  still  prej^ed  upon  his  mind,  and  left  a 
void  which  nothing  had  the  power  to  fill.  He  was  taciturn 
and  moody,  and  longed  to  go  to  the  front,  and  get  away  from 
an  atmosphere  which  had  in  it  all  the  elements  of  war  and  its 
ravages  without  the  mental  stimulus  of  active  service. 

By  the  first  of  January,  1862,  the  war  had  begun  in  good 
earnest.  Men  on  both  sides  began  to  settle  down  to  the  con- 
viction, that  the  only  way  to  determine  it  was  to  fight  it  out. 

Very  foolishly,  the  Confederate  Government  or  the  States 
had  fortified  isolated  points  along  their  coast  line.  Such  a 
system  had  proved  very  efficacious  in  our  foriegn  wars,  but 
was  doomed  to  be,  in  this  case,  but  a  waste  of  time  and  sacri- 
fice of  life.  Some  of  these  who  had  already  been  taken  but 
Roanoke  Island,  had  as  yet  not  suffered  from  an  attack. 

General  Henry  A.  Wise,  a  Virginia  politician  of  well-known 
ability,  and  an  ex-governor  of  the  State  was  sent  to  defend  it. 
What  there  was  there  to  defend,  God  only  knew.  Nor  what 
to  capture  until  the  Confederates  put  a  few  thousands  of  troops 
on  the  beach,  and  sent  half  a  dozen  old  wooden  hulks — side- 
wheel  river  steamers,  scarcely  fit  to  sail  over  a  mill-pond — 
to  be  gobbled  up  by  the  Burnside  expedition  that  was  then 
being  fitted  out  for  that  very  purpose. 

With  New  Berne  on  the  south,  and  Norfolk  on  the  north, 
both  in  the  hands  of  the  Federals,  as  they  afterwards  were, 
for  all  Eoanoke  Island  was  worth,  to  either  government.  Gene- 
ral Wise  might  have  remained  at  Nag's  Head  and  in  undis- 
turbed possession  of  his  pet  stronghold,  until  after  the  sur- 
render of  Lee,  at  Appomattox,  and  neither  side  been  aware 
that  there  was  any  such  place. 

But  they  went  on  and  garrisoned  it,  and  the  Federals  sup- 
posing it  to  be  of  sufficient  strategetical  importance  to  the 
enemy  for  him  to  occupy,  thought  that  they  w^ould  dislodge 
him,  if  only  for  a  little  spring  diversion,  their  main  object 
being  to  capture  Elizabeth  City,  and  other  towns  on  the  sound 
and  thus  flank  Norfolk,  and  thereby  place  the  whole  sea-coast 
of  North  Carolina  and  Virginia  under  contribution.  Such  a 
movement,  if  successful,  would  give  McClellan  a  base  for  his 
peninsula  campaign  of  unquestionable  value. 

The  days  oi  playing  soldier  at  Norfolk  were  drawing  to  a 
close.  Becruiting  officers  began  to  be  seen  busily  plying  their 
vocation  in  the  streets  of  the  twin  cities.  Detachments  of 
soldiers  were  moving  daily  in  every  direction.  The  hospital 
corps  were  busy  preparing  for  bloody  work. 


140  ToM  BUliTOS'. 

Men's  faces  began  to  grow  longer  and  sadder,  tlie  long 
expected  New  Year  was  at  hand,  but  instead  of  joy  it  brought 
sorrow,  and  a  fearful  looking  forward  to  coming  days  of  evil. 

Friends  and  loved  ones  were  parting,  bidding  farewell,  per- 
haps forever  !  Koanoke  Island  was  the  chief  objective  point 
on  all  sides  in  this  part  of  the  world  just  at  this  time. 

Thither  was  doomed  to  go  poor  vSammy.  In  spite  of  all 
the  influence  of  his  many  friends — that  is,  the  friends  of  his 
uncle,  who  was  well  known — and  all  the  moral  and  political 
forces  his  sorrowing  and  self-accusing  relative  could  muster, 
there  was  but  one  alternative,  either  the  chain-gang  or  the 
army. 

Now,  w^hile  Sammy's  mind  did  not  run  much  after  fighting, 
especially  with  powder  and  ball,  he  had  less  regard  to  tliat 
motley  crew  of  negroes,  crakers  and  Dismal  Swamp  clay- 
eaters,  one  used  to  see  dragging  their  clanking  chains  through 
the  streets  of  Norfolk,  at  once  a  disgrace  to  civilization  and 
religion. 

If  a  necessity  exists  for  such  a  mode  of  punishment,  that 
very  fact  is  the  best  evidence  that  under  proper  laws  and  an 
enlightened  government  no  such  criminal  ought  to  be  found. 

Sammy  chose  the  army  first,  last,  and  all  the  time,  and 
prepared  himself  to  accept  the  offer  and  enlist.  The  recruit- 
ing officer  went  to  the  jail  and  the  matter  was  arranged. 
.  Captain  Evans  saw  General  Wise  and  engaged  to  supply 
him  with  wild-fowl  during  his  sojourn  at  Nag's  Head.  He 
would  then  be  at  his  liberty  to  visit  the  boy  on  the  island 
at  will,  and  having  the  friendship  of  the  commander-in-chief, 
would  be  a  sort  of  privileged  character,  to  do  as  he  chose. 
He  was  a  good  shot,  an  old  gunner,  and  as  the  general  was  an 
epicure,  the  favors  were  equal. 

The  plan  worked  well.  The  distance  between  Nag's  Head 
and  Hoanoke  Island  did  not  exceed  a  few  miles,  and  a  day 
scarcely  passed  that  the  old  captain  was  not  at  the  camp. 
Whenever  the  boy  did  picket  duty,  the  old  man  remained  on 
post  with  him,  and  there  being  no  danger  of  surprise  in  the 
night,  or  even  day,  until  the  enemy  should  come  into  the 
Sound,  the  two  found  it  quite  pleasant  to  sit  by  a  fire  and 
talk  over  old  times. 

Their  conversations  would  be  chiefly  of  home,  their  trips 
across  the  bay,  the  strange  young  girl  they  brought  over,  and 
Claude. 

With  the  latter,  the  old  man  was  disgusted.  He  had  not 
proved,  according  to  his  estimation,  the  right  sort  of  a  friend. 
He  thought  Claude  had  treated  him  superciliously  on  several 


TOM  BUBTOX.  141 

occasions,  and  when  he  was  almost  beside  himself  with  grief 
over  Sammy's  troubles,  Claude  had  j^roved  either  inefficient 
or  disinterested. 

But  the  fact  was,  Claude  did  not  care  now-a-days  for  any- 
thing but  Miss  Buttercup  and  his  toddy.  His  visits  to  Free- 
mason Street  were  more  frequent,  if  anything  than  ever.  His 
military  duties  were  neglected  entirely,  and  not  one  of  the 
officers  boarding  at  229  spoke  with  him  at  all.  More  than 
one  pernicious  influence  was  at  work  on  Claude. 

King  Alcohol  had  enlisted  him  into  his  service,  and  his 
most  trusted  friend  had  become  to  be  Mr.  John  Barleycorn. 
These  fine  gentlemen  had  so  engrossed  his  attention  and  won 
his  affections  that  he  was  no  longer  the  patriotic  Con- 
federate soldier  he  formerly  was.  Miss  Buttercup's  eggnog 
was  as  potent  as  Miss  Buttercup  herself,  for  while  the  lat- 
ter's  bonds  began  to  be  worn  loosely,  those  of  the  great  King 
were  tightening  every  day  more  and  more. 

His  whole  life  seemed  to  have  drifted  into  one  channel,  that 
of  voluptuousness.  But  one  cannot  drink  at  Pleasure's 
fount  forever  and  still  be  insatiate.  All  pleasures  if  over- 
indulged will  cloy,  and  none  sooner  than  those  which  feed  the 
baser  passions.  But  it  is  not  a  satisfying  satiety  which  they 
afford.  They  nauseate  while  they  open  up  an  appetite  which 
cries  for  evermore  :  Give  !  give  !  Claude  loathed  whisky, 
but,  alas,  he  could  not  refrain. 

Claude  was  weary  of  Miss  Buttercup,  but  he  could  not 
stay  away.  How  glad  he  would  be  to  feel  cool  and  comforta- 
ble once  more,  with  a  clear  head  and  steady  hand.  How  re- 
freshing would  be  an  evening  with  Kate  Moore,  or  even 
Mary  Burton,  were  she  alive.  Ah !  the  wages  of  sin  is  death, 
and  the  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard  indeed. 

If  he  felt  ready  to  reform,  a  depraved  appetite  told  him  he 
could  not  do  it  and  live. 

If  he  lagged  in  his  suit  at  the  house  in  Freemason  Street, 
its  fair  mistress  was  ready  to  upbraid  him. 

"  I  know  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  Claude.  You  are 
tired  of  me.  You  are  sick  at  heart  and  want  to  give  me  up. 
Your  mind  is  over  on  the  Eastern  Shore.  Oh,  well,  go  back 
to  your  first  love.  I  hear  she  is  having  fine  times  with  Yan- 
kee officers  over  there.  Well,  I  don't  blame  her.  I  would 
do  likewise.  Men  are  not  worth  being  constant  for.  Any 
woman  is  a  fool  who  ties  herself  to  one  man  only." 

Thus  would  she  nag  him  on  to  a  desperation  which  only 
served  to  cause  him  to  sin  to-day  that  he  might  repent  to- 
morrow. It  is  in  this  fashion  that  all  men  go  down,  cursing 
the  means  one  day,  courting  it  the  next. 


142  TOM  nURTOX. 

Did  she  appear  blase  at  one  time,  and  did  lie  think  of  her 
sometimes  with  disgust?  It  would  not  be  long  before  in  an- 
other mood  she  would  appear  to  him  as  an  angel  from 
heaven.  Was  the  scent  of  his  handkerchief  or  gloves  the 
next  morning,  after  an  evening  spent  at  her  house,  distaste- 
ful ?  He  only  need  to  remain  away  from  her  presence  a  single 
night  and  mignonette,  or  heliotrope,  or  apple  blossoms  were 
not  more  fragrant  than  tlie  breeze  her  fan  wafted.  So  that 
what  was  one  day  slaying  him  M'as  sure  the  next  evening  to 
revive  him.  Now,  if  man  were  of  the  sort  of  those  short- 
lived ephemera  which  disport  themselves  in  the  joys  of  the 
bright  world  for  a  single  day,  and  then  perish  in  the  propa- 
gation of  their  species,  all  this  kind  of  thing  would  do  very 
w^ell,  but  as  we  survive  more  than  one  day  here,  and  thus 
have  to  provide  for  different  circumstances,  which  we  may  en- 
counter on  the  morrow,  and  as  we  are  immortal  beings  and 
have  to  prepare  as  well  for  the  hereafter,  it  will  not  do  to  risk 
all  on  the  momentary  pleasures  of  an  hour.    But  we  moralize. 

Thus,  with  Claude  following  his  Jack-o'-lantern  life  in  Nor- 
folk, Captain  Evans  and  Sammy  waiting  for  Burnside  on  Roan- 
oke Island,  Kate  Moore  at  Dr.  Savage's,  on  the  Eastern  Shore, 
Colonel  Tom  Burton  in  the  same  place,  looking  after  blockade- 
runners  and  other  small  matters,  and  the  bride  and  groom 
quarreling  their  honeymoon  out  at  Moorefield,  we  take  the 
present  leisure  to  follow  the  little  Sister  as  she,  guided  by  the 
good  priest,  wends  her  way  to  the  hospital  of  St.  Vincent  de 
Paul. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

ST.  VINCENT  DE  PAUL  AND  ST.  MARy's-BY-THE-SEA. 

In  looking  backward  to  the  Catholic  Church  as  the  mother  of 
our  present  Christianity,  it  is  not  the  least  pleasant  phase  in 
her  remarkable  history  to  contemplate  the  lofty,  self-sacrificing 
character  of  some  of  her  eminent  propagandists.  Not  that  we 
shall  find  them  all  perfection,  or  even  more  than  human  ;  but 
who  can  deny  the  fact  that  some  of  the  fathers  even,  of  me- 
diaeval times,  offer  us  excellent  models  of  all  that  is  profitable 
and  beautiful  in  religious  life.  Among  these  none,  perhaps, 
is  more  worthy  of  notice,  or  occupies  a  more  exalted  position 
as  to  his  virtues,  or  the  great  benevolent  institutions  which 
he  governed  and  which  have  so  gloriously  survived  him,  as 
St.  Vincent  de  Paul. 


TOM  BURTON.  143 

Beginning  first  at  Chatillon,  in  France,  in  1629,  his  ex- 
cellent order  of  Sisters  of  Charity  has  multiplied  itself  in 
many  forms  and  into  various  names  throughout  the  world. 

The  object  of  this  order  of  celibate  women  being  the  care 
of  the  sick  and  the  protection  of  foundlings  and  destitute  chil- 
dren, it  is  the  one  society  of  nuns  w^hich  has  met  with  special 
favor  in  all  lands  and  communities,  and  won  the  respect  of 
all  good  people  wherever  it  has  been  found  to  exist. 

At  the  head  of  Fenchurch  Street,  in  Xorfolk,  surrounded 
by  magnolias,  and  in  the  midst  of  well-kept  grounds,  stands 
a  large  building  of  modern  French  architecture.  It  is  one  of 
the  chief  attractions  of  this  not  very  attractive  city,  and  is 
known  as  the  hospital  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul. 

Here,  without  regard  to  religious  prejudice,  or  station,  or  ed- 
ucation, or  nationality,  except  that  colored  people  are  treated 
in  separate  wards,  the  unfortunate  suffering  from  sickness  or 
accident,  may  receive  medical  attention  and  careful  and  tender 
bedside  nursing. 

Here  the  soft,  white  hand  of  woman,  unsoiled  by  inter- 
course with,  or  contact  from,  the  outside  world,  administers 
consolation  to  the  afflicted;  and  here  her  gentle  voice,  recall- 
ing the  tones  of  a  sainted  mother,  soothes  the  careworn  and 
sinking  heart  of  the  weary  traveler  who  has  fainted  by  the 
wayside,  and  has  journeyed  to  this  quiet  and  secluded  spot 
to  die;  and  here  the  patient  Sister  holds  up  to  his  expiring 
view  the  symbols  of  eternal  life. 

Noble,  self-sacrificing  women  !  You  look  odd  enough  to 
us  Protestants,  in  your  ungraceful  and  homely  attire,  and 
your  demure  and  placid  faces  so  void  of  passion,  and  so 
schooled  and  impressiouless  ;  but  the  old  world  can  ill  do  with- 
out you  yet,  and  if  you  are  a  relic  of  the  past,  so  are  sorrow, 
and  sickness,  and  pain,  and  death,  and  while  these  endure 
you  will  always  find  a  welcome  in  the  hearts  and  dwellings 
of  suffering  humanity! 

Through  the  iron  gate,  up  the  stone  steps  to  the  broad 
stoop,  and  into  the  reception-room,  went  the  priest  with  the 
little  Sister. 

The  Sister  Superior  was  busy  in  the  apothecary  shop,  but, 
upon  being  told  that  Father  O'Farrel  was  come,  did  not  keep 
her  visitors  long  waiting.  Her  face  was  ruddy  and  beaming 
with  smiles. 

"  Sister  Matilda,  I  have  brought  jow  a  young  girl  who, 
while  she  does  not  seem  to  be  sick  in  body,  is  sad  and  weary 
of  heart.  She  wishes  to  prepare  herself  for  the  duties  of  the 
sisterhood.     I  know  of  no  better  school  than  right  here  in  the 


144  TOM  BURTON, 

hospital,  and  no  more  efficient  tutor  than  yourself ;  so  I  have 
brought  her  to  you.  Here,  under  your  wing,  she  can  not  only 
learn  the  stern  duties  appertaining  to  your  order,  h\xt,  from 
actual  experience,  be  able,  in  a  short  while,  to  decide  with 
more  certainty  whether  her  present  state  of  mind  is  the  re- 
sult of  mature  deliberation,  or  a  less  healthy  condition,  the 
result  of  an  attack  of  spasmodic  ennui.  She  is  a  stranger  to 
me  and  to  Norfolk,  having  crossed  the  bay  last  night  in  an 
open  boat.  I  have  no  doubt  she  will  commend  herself  to  you, 
as  she  seems  to  be  a  young  lady  of  refinement,  and  virtuous 
habits.  She  is  very  tired,  and  I  suggest,  after  she  has  par- 
taken of  some  refreshments,  you  allow  her  to  have  a  comfort- 
able and  quiet  room  ;  and,  after  she  has  slept,  you  will  then 
have  an  opportunity  to  become  better  acquainted.  I  there- 
fore leave  her  in  your  kind  care." 

Then,  after  putting  his  hand  upon  the  girl's  head  and 
blessing  her,  he  grasped  Sister  Matilda's  hand  and  bowed 
himself  out  of  the  room. 

Sister  Matilda,  who  was  a  heavy  woman,  past  middle  life, 
with  laughing  brown  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks,  came  forward, 
and,  kissing  the  girl,  asked  her  name. 

"  You  may  simply  call  me  the  Little  Sister,"  was  the  de- 
mure reply. 

Without  renewing  the  question,  Sister  Matilda  resumed : 
"  You  do  look  pale  and  weary,  my  child.  I  shall  call  Sister 
Irene,  and  have  her  take  you  to  the  dormitory,  where,  after 
having  something  to  eat,  you  may  retire  and  have  a  good  rest. 
After  that  I  shall  send  for  you  and  we  can  have  a  talk." 

Sister  Irene  came,  and  the  Sister  Superior,  once  again  kiss- 
ing the  girl,  sent  her  off  with  the  new  attendant,  saying,  as 
she  did  so,  "  This  is  the  Little  Sister ;  I  shall  make  you  her 
sponsor,  Sister  Irene.  See  that  she  is  comfortable  and  sleeps 
well  to-night.  If  she  should  suffer  from  nervousness,  let  me 
know.     She  may  need  an  anodyne." 

Both  nuns  wore  their  full  dress,  including  their  cornets, 
and  all  the  time  Sister  Matilda  was  speaking,  the  long  ends  of 
hers  flapped  like  the  wings  of  some  huge  bird. 

Their  habits  were  of  a  sombre  blue  color,  and  each  one  of 
them  wore  a  rosary  and  metal  crucifix  suspended  from  a 
girdle  at  the  waist. 

Their  heads  must  have  been  close  shaven,  as  not  a  vestige 
of  hair  could  be  seen  below  the  tightly  fitting  bands  of  their 
white  cornets. 

The  room  to  which  the  Little  Sister  was  conducted  was 
comfortable,  without  any  pretensions  to  luxury.     A  plain  iron 


TOM  BURTON,  145 

bedstead  with  clean  linen,  a  chiffonier,  a  table  and  two  chairs, 
besides  a  wash-bowl  and  pitcher,  made  up  the  the  list  of  ap- 
purtenances. The  floor  was  of  hardwood  and  carpetless.  At 
the  head  of  the  bed  was  a  small  table,  on  which  a  wax 
candle  and  a  crucifix  were  placed. 

"  This  is  your  room.  Make  yourself  perfectly  at  home," 
said  the  blue-eyed  sister  Irene,  her  fair  face  and  even  teeth, 
which  showed  in  two  magnificent  rows  of  pearls  when  she 
spoke,  giving  her  an  appearance  of  refinement  and  purity. 
"  I  will  now  descend  to  the  kitchen  and  see  if  I  can  hurry  you 
up  some  supper." 

The  Little  Sister  thanked  her  clever  attendant ;  but  with- 
out taking  as  much  as  a  passing  glance  at  her  surroundings, 
or  w-aiting  for  the  promised  lunch,  disrobed  herself,  and 
throwing  her  exhausted  little  body  upon  the  bed,  was  fast 
asleep  when  Sister  Irene  returned  with  a  cup  of  tea,  some 
boiled  eggs  and  hot  rolls,  which  she  had  hastily  prepared. 
Seeing  that  her  charge  was  resting  quietly,  she  did  not  dis- 
turb her,  but  setting  the  viands  on  the  table,  slipped  out  of 
the  room  and  left  her  to  recuperate  her  Avasted  energies. 

Youth  readily  renews  itself.  The  overstrained  physical 
powers  of  the  young,  like  a  new  bow,  adjust  themselves  at 
once  when  the  tension  has  been  removed.  The  Little  Sister 
awoke  early  the  next  morning  fully  restored  to  her  normal 
condition.  She  felt,  at  the  first  moment  of  returning  ration- 
ality, a  slight  depression  of  mind,  such  as  we  sometimes  ex- 
perience after  long  struggles  with  trials,  even  though  we 
have  overcome  them,  feeling  the  effects  of  the  heavy  burden 
still,  although  it  has  rolled  from  our  weary  shoulders  forever 
— a  sort  of  vague  unrestfulness,  indefinite  yet  palpable.  So 
lingered  yet  on  the  little  one's  memory  some  hard  battle  of 
the  past  which  she  felt  grateful  to  thank  God  was  at  last  be- 
hind her.  When  Sister  Irene  came  with  breakfast  she  was 
up  and  dressed. 

"You  are  feeling  much  improved,  Little  Sister,  are  you 
not  ?  " 

'•'  I  am  indeed.  I  was  very  tired  last  night,  and  slept  like 
a  log." 

''  You  look  much  refreshed.  I  hope  your  appetite  has  re- 
turned." 

"  Take  a  chair  and  see  me  devour  this  food,  and  you  shall 
have  no  need  to  hope.     I  am  quite  hungry." 

While  eating,  the  Little  Sister  took  occasion  to  observe  her 
pleasant  patron.  She  was  pleased  with  her  appearance.  Sister 
Ireiie  being  the  exact  counterpart  of  herself.     She  was  a  clear, 


146  TOM  BLRTOy. 

bright  blonde,  slight  in  form  and  delicate.  She  also  saw  that 
Sister  Irene  wore  a  plain  gold  ring  on  the  third  finger  of  her 
left  hand. 

In  demeanor  she  was  sad  and  reflective  ;  but  sweet  and 
beyond  any  doubt  lovely  in  her  manners.  For  a  friend,  the 
Little  Sister  was  suited  be^^ond  anything  that  she  could  have 
asked  for ;  and  felt  toward  her  already  as  a  sister. 

"  We  shall  surely  be  good  friends." 

This  was  the  unexpressed  sentiment  of  both  of  them. 

"  Do  you  find  it  pleasant  to  be  a  Sister  ?  "  asked  the  novice, 
more  to  have  something  to  talk  about  than  anything  else. 

^'  Oh,  yes,  I  will  not  allow  myself  to  see  it  in  any  other 
light.  We  are  all  happy  here.  What  can  afford  more  real 
solid  comfort  in  this  world  than  a  sense  of  duty  well  performed. 
Worldly  pleasures  are  not  lasting.  There  are  some  flowers 
whose  odor  grows  more  and  more  grateful  the  longer  you  in- 
hale them ;  while  others  first  intoxicate,  and  then  disgust. 
The  former  are  like  religious  enjoyments,  the  latter  like 
worldly  pleasures." 

"But  does  duty  always  fill  every  longing  of  the  soul? 
Can  3'ou  always  find  a  solace  in  such  a  life  ?  " 

"  To  meet  and  conquer  temptation  we  have  not  only  to 
perform  our  dut}^  so  far  as  it  refers  to  w^orks  ;  but  in  prayer 
and  penance  we  find  a  fullness  which  leaves  no  room  for  any 
other  desire  but  to  serve  and  love  the  Saviour  of  man.  I  trust, 
my  dear  Little  Sister,  3'ou  have  already  received  that  satisfy- 
ing grace  ?  " 

"I  know  there  are  pleasures  for  the  young  outside  of  convent 
life,  pleasures  w^e  are  made  with  capacities  to  enjoy ;  but 
out  of  the  excess  of  human  happiness  grows  the  noxious 
plant  of  human  woe,  and  when  we  reap  we  gather  the  tares 
with  the  wheat." 

"Am  I  to  infer  from  your  inquiries  that  you  are  regretting 
your  choice  ?  " 

"  By  no  means,  my  dear  Sister.  I  trust  I  shall  never  re- 
gret it  more  than  I  now  do.  With  one  so  sweet  as  you,  dear 
Sister  Irene,  how  could  there  be  regrets  or  misgivings,  I 
know  you  will  assist  me  with  your  best  endeavors  to  be  full 
of  faith  and  full  of  good  works." 

"  That  I  shall,  my  dear  Little  Sister,"  replied  the  nun  as 
she  kissed  the  girl  passionately. 

After  breakfast,  the  Sister  Superior  sent  for  the  Little 
Sister.     Sister  Irene  conducted  her  to  Sister  INIatilda's  room. 

"  You  are  aware  that  according  to  our  rules  you  must  be  a 
novice  at  least  five  years  before  you  can  take  the  vows  of 
sisterhood  ?  " 


TOM  BURTON.  147 

"  So  I  was  informed  by  Father  O'Farrel.'^ 

^*  We  require,  at  that  time,  a  full  surrender  of  all  your 
worldly  goods,  and  a  free  and  voluntary  assumption  of  our 
orders,  the  purport  of   which,  I    suppose  you  already  know." 

"I  do.'' 

"  And  you  are  determined  to  become  one  of  us  ?  " 

"lam." 

"  I  have  promised  Father  OTarrel  to  take  you  here  as  a 
novice  until  you  shall  have  arrived  at  the  end  of  your  novi- 
tiate. You  will  have  to  be  instructed  in  the  catechism,  from 
which  you  will  learn  the  tenets  of  our  faith,  and  having  done 
that,  you  will  receive  confirmation.  This,  with  one  of  your 
apparent  education  and  discernment,  will  not  take  long,  and 
when  accomplished,  you  may  assume  the  duties  of  a  Sister- 
novitiate,  under  the  care  and  guidance  of  your  instructress. 
Sister  Irene.  We  shall,  doubtless,  soon  be  ver}^  busy.  This 
fearful  war,  so  much  to  be  regretted,  will  send  us  many 
patients,  and  we  may  extend  our  oj^erations  even  to  the 
field  of  battle,  where  we  shall  need  all  the  nurses  we  can  get. 
Sister  Irene  will  take  jou  down  to  see  Father  O'Farrel  to- 
day, and  as  you  are  a  stranger,  you  may  spend  an  hour  very 
profitabl}^  in  the  church,  examining  the  pictures  which  are 
said  to  be  second  in  reputation  to  none  in  this  country,  so 
far  as  church  decorations  are  concerned. 

"  It  is  needless  for  me  to  say  to  you  that  you  must  be  very 
discreet  while  away  from  the  institution.  It  is  imperatively 
necessary  that  you  be  so.  The  Church,  as  well  as  the  sister- 
hood demands  of  you  that  you  bring  no  reproach  upon  her. 
I  mention  this  because  you  are  young,  and  the  eyes  of  the 
world  are  on  us  all  the  while  ;  and  young  people  are  thought- 
less. Be  faithful  to  your  anticipated  vows,  and  nothing  can 
harm  you." 

While  delivering  this  lecture.  Sister  Matilda  assumed  the 
air  of  one  who  was  in  authority  and  had  a  right  to  command 
obedience  ;  but  when  she  was  through,  her  face  resumed  its 
wonted  cheerfulness,  and  the  Little  Sister  felt  that  in  the 
Superior  of  the  Hospital,  she  had  a  friend  as  kind  and  con- 
siderate as  a  woman  could  be,  and  at  the  same  time  preserve 
the  dignity  of  her  position. 

The  forenoon  was  spent  in  looking  over  the  institution.  Its 
arrangements  were  different  from  what  the  young  girl  had 
supposed  that  of  hospitals  to  be.  The  floors  of  St.  Vincent 
de  Paul  were  not  laid  off  into  wards,  but  into  rooms  similar 
to  those  of  a  hotel,  and  these  were  furnished  with  suits  of 
valuable   furniture,    carpeted    and  made    as  comfortable    as 


148  TOM  BUBTON. 

modern  taste  and  art  could  make  them.  In  the  rear  of  the 
main  building,  and  connected  with  it  by  a  long  corridor,  was 
the  chapel.  Here  mass  was  said  twice  a  week,  and  the 
mortuary  services  performed  over  those  professing  the  Catho- 
lic religion  who  died  ia  the  hospital.  Here,  also,  the  Sisters 
went  to  pray  morning  and  evening.  The  hospital  was  not 
crowded  with  patients  at  the  time,  and  many  of  the  Sisters 
were  doing  service  at  the  bedside  of  peojDle  who  were  sick  at 
their  homes. 

In  the  afternoon,  Sister  Irene  took  the  Little  Sister  down 
town  to  pay  a  visit  to  Father  OTarrel. 

They  found  the  good  priest  at  home,  and  the  little  novice 
took  her  first  lesson  in  the  catechism,  acquitting  herself  very 
creditably,  pleasing  both  her  preceptor  and  pastor.  The  call 
was  without  ceremony,  and  the  Little  Sister  began  already  to 
feel  repaid  for  all  the  dangers  and  trials  she  had  experienced 
in  coming  to  !Xorfolk  to  become  a  Sister  of  Charity. 

From  the  rectory,  they  went  to  the  church.  St.  Mary's-by- 
the-Sea,  though  not  a  large  edifice,  is  superb  in  its  proportions 
and  pleasing  in  its  outlines.  In  its  exterior  the  eye  delights 
to  wander  from  fa9ade  to  roof,  and  from  roof  to  spire,  failing 
to  discover  a  single  thing  to  mar  the  beuuty  of  symmetry  which 
pervades  the  entire  superstructure. 

Passing  through  the  vestry-room,  the  two  women  entered 
near  St.  Joseph's  altar,  and  stood  in  the  chancel  kneeling  in 
front  of  the  main  altar.  From  thence,  beginning  on  the  left, 
they  proceeded  to  examine  the  paintings  which  represent  the 
thrilling  scenes  that  constitute  what  is  known  as  the  stages 
of  the  cross.  These  pictures,  all  painted  by  European  mas- 
ters, they  saw  had  been  presented  by  members  of  the 
church.  Under  each  was  the  name  of  the  donor  with  the 
inscription  :   "  Pray  for  the  soul  of '^ 

To  the  mind  of  the  nun  these  paintings  seemed  to  bring 
only  the  association  of  the  painful  events  they  commemorated, 
but  the  Little  Sister,  less  devotional,  saw  in  them  the  painter  s 
art  and  the  poetry  which  burned  in  the  painter's  soul.  While 
she  felt  that  she  stood  on  hol}^  ground  and  almost  in  the  pres- 
ence of  her  suffering  Lord,  she  could  not  be  oblivious  to  the 
consummate  skill  and  lofty  genius  of  the  hand  that  executed 
the  work.  The  finer  the  masterpiece,  the  greater  respect  it 
awakened  in  her  for  the  artist,  and  the  deeper  sympathy  for 
the  suffering  Saviour. 

"  Jesus  condemned  to  death,"  represented  the  meek  and  help- 
less prisoner  before  Pilate's  judgment  seat,"  ''Jesus  bearing 
his  cross,"  and  "  Jesus  meeting  his  mother,"  were  some  of  the 


TOM  BXTRTOK.  149 

finest.  But,  by  far  the  most  striking  of  them  all,  perhaps  be- 
cause possessing  more  the  spirit  of  romance,  was  that  repre- 
senting the  legend  of  Veronica  wiping  the  face  of  the  weary 
Saviour,  as  he  climbs  the  rugged  hill,  weary  with  bearing  the 
heavy  beam  on  which  his  blessed  body  is  soon  to  be  stretched. 
The  tender  touch  of  the  womanly  hand  and  the  gracious 
acknowledgment  of  a  weary  God,  were  graphically  drawn, 
and  touchingly  portrayed. 

The  painted  windows,  with  their  softly  subduing  effect,  as 
they  admitted  into  the  gothic  vault  above  and  through  the 
shadowy  nave  a  faint  and  spiritual  light,  on  this  quiet  win- 
ter evening,  was  not  the  least  impressive  feature  of  the  sur- 
soundings.  The  one  near  the  altar  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  rep- 
resenting the  visit  of  the  wise  men  to  Bethlehem,  was  espe- 
cially admired  by  the  novice.  When  the  two  women  turned 
from  this,  the  last  object  of  their  admiration,  the  shadows  of 
coming  evening,  always  so  premature  in  these  short  days  of 
winter,  were  lengthening. 

During  their  visit  to  the  church,  they  had  noticed  here  and 
there,  groups  of  persons,  two  or  three  in  number,  engaged  in 
the  same  pleasant  pastime  as  themselves,  with  now  and  then 
a  solitary  soldier  at  his  devotions,  or  a  backwoodsman  wander- 
ing through  the  church  listlessly  gazing  at  the  strange  appur- 
tenances of  a  church  he  had  only  read  about.  As  they  moved 
toward  the  door,  intending  to  pass  out  by  the  front  entrance, 
there  suddenly  swept  b}^  them  a  tall,  handsome  gentleman  in 
the  dress  of  a  captain  of  cavalry,  and  leaning  on  his  arm  in 
a  most  familiar  and  affectionate  manner,  a  stout  young  lady 
in  rich  attire,  her  long  train  sweeping  the  carpeted  aisle  as 
she  passed. 

The  officer  looked  at  the  two  women  as  he  passed  them, 
stopped,  and  peered  almost  insultingly  into  the  face  of  the 
novice,  and  passed  on.  The  Little  Sister  first  grew  red,  and 
then  pale,  and  staggering  for  want  of  animation,  sank  lifeless 
into  a  pew,  clutching  Sister  Irene's  arm  as  she  went  down. 
The  latter  cast  a  glance  of  displeasure  after  the  retreating 
couple,  just  as  the  gentleman  looking  back,  saw  that  the  girl 
had  fainted.  He  immediately  came  back,  and  asked  if  he 
could  be  of  any  assistance,  his  lady  remained  where  she  stood. 
Sister  Irene  caught  sight  of  the  face  of  the  finely  dressed 
lady,  and  changing  color,  said  to  the  gentleman  :  ''  Your  ser- 
vices are  not  required,  thank  you.  There  is  no  need  of  any 
interference  ;  she  has  only  swooned."  As  he  did  not  seem 
inclined  to  proceed  the  nun  spoke  with  greater  vehemence. 
^'  Please,  sir,  go  on.  Your  presence  here,  sir,  when  she  comes 


loO  TOM  BURTON. 

to,  would  only  add  confusion,  and  retard  lier  recovery. 
I  have  no  need  of  any  assistance." 

The  lady  who  was  waiting  gave  her  head  a  toss  of  impa- 
tience, and  her  companion,  bowing  to  the  nun,  joined  her, 
offered  his  arm,  and  the  two  walked  out  of  the  church.  Sistet 
Irene  ran  to  the  vestry,  obtained  a  glass  of  water,  and  return- 
ed to  find  the  Little  Sister  fully  recovered. 

"  These  rude  people  should  not  be  allowed  to  visit  such  a 
place  as  this,"  she  said,  handing  the  glass  to  her  little  friend. 

"  I^ever  mind  that,  I  was  only  frightened  a  little  at  the 
man's  curiosity.  He  looked  at  me  so  searchingly.  It's  fool- 
ish, I  know,  to  act  in  this  way,  but  it's  all  over  now,  and  we 
will  go  back  home." 

"  These  people  are  very  rude,"  reiterated  Sister  Irene. 

"Do  3^ou  know  them  ?"  inquired  the  other. 

"  The  lady,  very  well.  Her  companion  is  a  vain  coxcomb 
of  a  man,  who  they  say  is  infatuated  with  her.  I  will  give 
3^ou  a  history  in  which  she  figures  rather  conspicuously,  some 
of  these  days." 

"  Do,  Sister  Irene,  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  hear  it." 

The  keen  winter  air  on  the  street  had  the  effect  of  reviv- 
ing the  novice,  so  that  by  the  time  thev  reached  the  large 
building  at  the  end  of  Fenchurch  Street,  there  was  left  no 
trace  of  her  recent  indisposition  save  a  slight  palor  of  the 
face,  which  only  seemed  to  heighten  the  contrast  of  her  dark 
eyes  and  the  long  silken  eyelashes  which  shaded  them.  As 
Sister  Irene  was  leaving  her  in  her  room,  she  kissed  her  over 
and  over  again. 

"  You  are  so  beautiful,  my  dear,  I  cannot  help  it,"  she 
said.  "  I  will  come  back  by-and-by  and  tell  you  the  story 
appertaining  to  the  lady  we  saw  in  the  church  to-day." 


CHAPTEK   XVIII. 

A  FELLOW-FEELING   MAKES  US    WONDROUS  KIND. 

Nor  was  Sister  Irene  at  all  remiss  in  her  attention  to  her 
charge. 

She  went  to  the  kitchen  and  prepared  some  tea  and  toast, 
and  cold  fowl,  and  fruit,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
the  Little  Sister  partake  of  it  with  a  hearty  relish. 

"If  you  call  this  penance.  Sister  Irene,  I  should  like  to 
know  what  indulgence  is,"  laugliingly  remarked  the  novice. 
"  Do  the  Sisters  all  live  in  this  fashion  ?  " 


TOM  BUllTOX.  151 

"  No,  my  cliild,  not  always.  We  live  comfortably,  not 
daintily.  Besides,  we  accustom  ourselves  to  abstemiousness. 
We  often  fast  you  know." 

"  Why,  then,  am  I  so  well  taken  care  of  ?  " 

"  Because  you  are  weak  and  considered  on  the  sick  list 
yet,"  said  Sister  Irene,  smiling. 

'•'Heaven  has  blessed  me  in  sending  me  such  a  good  friend 
and  companion  in' you,  dear  Sister  Irene." 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  my  little  one.  The  blessing  is  mutual. 
I  have  often  prayed  for  just  such  an  associate  as  you.  I  will 
remove  these  dishes,  and  then  come  again  and  we  shall  have  a 
nice  talk.     I  shall  hurry  back." 

'•And  I  shall  look  for  you  every  moment  until  j^ou  return, 
my  i^recious  guardian." 

"  It  seems  to  me  we  have  knowm  each  other  for  years," 
began  Sister  Irene,  on  her  return  after  supper,  as  she  took  a 
seat  b}^  the  bedside,  her  little  friend  having  lain  downi. 

"  Do  they  allow  you  to  wear  rings  ?  "  asked  the  novice, 
feeling  the  cold  metal  as  her  attendant  laid  her  hand  over 
her  forehead,  putting  back  the  rich  clusters  of  her  dark  hair. 

"  Yes,  we  are  allowed  to  wear  what  are  called  order  rings 
or  vow  rings.  Mine  was  given  me  by  a  dear  friend  several 
years  ago.    I  wear  it  for  his  memory." 

"  A  lover?"  ventured  to  inquire  the  Little  Sister. 

The  pale  face  of  Sister  Irene  was  suffused  w^ith  a  crimson 
glow,  which  set  it  off  finely. 

"  Not  exactly  a  lover.  Had  my  little  friend  better  try  and 
go  to  sleep  ?  " 

"  But  you  promised  to  tell  me  something  about  that  fine 
lady  we  saw  to-day." 

"  Yes,  I  remember.  I  scarcely  think  I  shall  have  time  to 
do  so  to-night,  and  you  are  too  nervous  to  listen.  I  know  the 
lady  well,  and  was  sorry  to  see  so  fine  a  looking  gentleman 
with  her.  She  is  considered  a  great  flirt'  and  manages  to 
keep  society  here  in  a  state  of  continual  perturbation ;  al- 
though the  best  people  of  Norfolk  very  generall}^  repudiate 
her.  But  hadn't  we  better  drop  the  subject  lest  we  grow 
uncharitable  ?  " 

''  Please  go  on,"  pleaded  the  other,  her  large  brown  eyes 
gazing  wistfully  up  into  the  face  of  her  attendant  with  an 
earnestness  which  did  not  escape  the  older  woman,  as  she 
rose  to  place  the  wax  taper  behind  her,  the  light  of  which 
was  falling  full  in  the  face  of  the  reclining  novice. 

'•  Please,  Sister  Irene,  do  not  leave  me  yet.  I  know  I  can- 
not go  to  sleep  if  you  leave  me  ;  and  I  shall  be  so  lonesome." 

"  I  was  not  going,  dear.'^ 


152  -I'OM   BUBTOy. 

"  Thank  you.  I  do  feel  so  mucli  more  comfortable  when 
you  are  with  me." 

"  It  is  just  as  comforting  for  me  to  be  with  you,  my  dear 
friend.  Somehow  or  other  you  seem  to  be  an  old  acquaint- 
ance. There  is  something  in  your  face  which  appeals  to  my 
memory  as  one  of  whom  I  have  dreamed,  if  not  met,  at  some 
time  of  life.  If  this  is  our  first  meeting,  the  coincidence  is 
one  of  those  j^lausible  instances  by  which  the  ancients  at- 
tempted to  prove  the  immortality  of  the  soul." 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  novice,  "they  were  right,  after  all, 
and  you  and  I  have  known  each  other  in  the  past  eternities." 

"It  is  strange,  but  your  voice,  your  eyes,  your  smile,  come 
home  to  me  with  such  force  that  I  am  almost  shocked  at  their 
familiarity.  You  may  depend,  my  dear  Sister,  I  shall  not 
lose  a  moment  to  be  with  you." 

"  But  Sister  Irene,  can't  you  tell  me  more  of  the  person  we 
met  in  the  church  ?  My  mind  is  continually  running  after 
her." 

"  Cease  to  think  of  her,  my  child.  It  is  her  victim  who 
ought  to  enlist  our  deepest  sympathy." 

"  Her  victim  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  dear.  She  victimizes  every  young  man  who  hap- 
pens to  be  caught  in  her  net.  She  slays  without  pity  all  who 
come  within  her  reach.  If  the  ghosts  of  all  the  young  men 
she  has  led  astray  ever  come  back  to  haunt  her,  the  Lord  have 
mercy  on  her  soul.  He  was  a  clever-looking  man,  and  there- 
fore I  feel  for  him." 

"  But,  can  he  not  be  saved  ?  Is  there  no  way  to  warn  him  of 
his  danger  ?  Can  we  not  pluck  him  as  a  brand  from  the 
burning  ?  "  As  the  Little  Sister  said  this,  she  raised  herself 
up  on  her  elbow,  her  dark  eyes  penetrating  the  very  soul  of 
Sister  Irene. 

"  Can  the  bird  be  saved  from  the  toils  of  the  fowler  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  dear;   you  remember  the  ant  ?  " 

"  True  ;  but  to  do  it,  we  have  got  to  reach  him.  It  is  hard 
to  convince  him  of  his  error.  When  once  a  woman  of  her 
beauty  and  wiles  has  fastened  upon  a  man,  it  takes  extraor- 
dinar}'  force  to  break  her  hold.  Though  one  rose  from  the 
dead,  he  will  not  believe  her  false.  jSTothing  but  experience, 
the  saddest  but  most  effective  of  all  teachers,  can  induce  him 
to  give  her  up.  She  leadeth,  and  '  he  goeth  after  her  straight- 
way, as  an  ox  goeth  to  the  slaughter,  or  as  a  fool  to  the  cor- 
rection of  the  stocks  ;  till  a  dart  strike  through  his  liver ;  or 
a  bird  hasteth  to  the  snare,  and  knoweth  not  it  is  for  his 
life.' " 


TOM  BURTON.  I50 

"  But,  Sister  Irene,  this  man  looks  to  be  well  Lred  and  sen- 
sible. If  he  really  knew  what  sort  of  woman  she  is ;  if  some 
good  friend  should  interfere — if  nothing  else  but  a  word  of 
warning — I  fancy  he  would  listen." 

"It  is  barely  possible.  It  seems  to  me  he  could  not  help 
hearing  the  scandal  which  has  already  been  attached  to  his 
name  in  consequence  of  the  liaison.^'' 

"  Do  3'ou,  then,  know  his  name  ?  " 

"They  say  it  is  Captain  Walsingham,  of  the  Eastern 
Shore.  He  should  not  be  without  friends.  His  standing  in 
the  army  ought  to  protect  him." 

"But,  my  dear  Sister  Irene,  he  is  a  soldier,  and  cut  off  from 
all  home  influence,  far  from  loved  ones,  and  in  the  midst  of  a 
gay  and  profligate  city,  drugged  by  the  war  spirit,  intoxicated 
by  its  glamour.  He  is,  no  doubt,  inexperienced  with  such 
persons,  and  the  more  noble  he  is  in  his  disposition,  the  easier 
gulled  by  the  temptress.  Oh,  my  dear  Sister  Irene,  can  we 
not  save  him  ?  We  must  try.  It  is  our  duty.  We  are  but 
indifferent  followers  of  the  Master  if  we  cannot  reach  and 
rescue  those  who  are  perishing  morally,  as  well  as  those  who 
are  physically  afiiicted." 

Sister  Irene  was  astonished  at  the  vigor  of  the  novice's 
zeal.  "I  have  had,  my  dear,  sympathetic  child,  a  sad  ex- 
perience in  that  line  alread}-,  and  in  connection  with  that 
very  woman,  which  I  will  relate  to  you  to-morrow  night,  and 
then  if  you  think  there  still  is  hope,  I  am  with  you  to  the 
rescue,  heart  and  soul.  You  must  rest  now,  so  I  will  bid  you 
good-night,"  and  taking  the  Little  Sister  in  her  arms,  she 
imprinted  a  dozen  kisses  on  her  lips  and  left  her  to  dream  of 
plans  to  save  the  young  officer  from  his  impending  doom, 
and  to  impatiently  wait  for  the  coming  evening,  when  her 
faithful  sponsor  would  detail  to  her  the  promised  revelations 
concerning  her  own  history  and  the  evil  deeds  of  the  fair 
sorceress,  whose  smile  was  danger  and  whose  embrace  was 
death. 

The  next  evening  found  the  two  Sisters  at  an  early  hour, 
through  with  their  tea,  and  the  elder  ready  to  begin  her  nar- 
rative. She  said:  "Woman,  my  dear  Little  Sister,  was 
born  to  love.  Mark  me,  I  say  woman.  There  are  some  hu- 
man beings  who  pass  for  women  who,  but  for  their  attire, 
would  never  be  taken  for  such.  These  belie  their  sex  ;  but 
the  world  of  a  true  woman  is  a  universe  of  love.  She  can 
flourish  in  no  other  atmosphere.  She  pines  and  dies  where 
there  is  nothing  to  love.  Nor  is  it  at  all  necessary  that 
she  receive  affection,  for  her  heart  is  a  perennial  spring,  not 
a  reservoir,  and  can  give  out  eternally  and  never  run  dry. 


154.  TOM  buhtox. 

"  The  Jewish  estimate  of  her  character,  my  dear  Little 
Sister,  is  false.  She  is  not  the  weaker  vessel,  morally  speak- 
ing. Neither  is  she  man's  enemy,  as  represented  in  Jewisli 
writings.  There  are  temptresses — sirens  as  hardened  and  dis- 
solute as  they  can  he — possessing  more  devils  than  seventy 
times  seven ;  but  clothed  in  her  right  mind,  even  a  Mary  of 
Magdala  becomes  a  saint  than  whom  no  angel  in  heaven  is 
more  honored.     But  to  my  story. 

"Years  ago  there  was,  in  this  old  town,  a  mercantile  firm,  by 
the  title  of  Bockover  and  Buttercup.  The  concern  was  a 
wealthy  one,  and  owned  many  ships  doing  a  trading  business 
with  the  West  Indies,  and  ports  up  the  Mediterranean.  My 
father  was  the  head  of  the  house.  Miss  Buttercup's  the 
junior.  The  old  people  are  all  dead  now,  except  the  mother  of 
Miss  Buttercup,  who  is  still  living  with  her  queer  daughter. 

"  Ten  years  ago  we  were  all  rich  and  happy.  Alas,  what 
changes  a  few  years  bring  forth  ! 

"  In  1854  the  firm  broke,  and  with  its  fall,  my  parents  un- 
able to  stand  the  blow,  went  down  to  the  grave,  and  I  became 
a  novice. 

"  I  will  not  tire  you  with  details.  The  year  before  the  failure 
of  the  business  of  Bockover  and  Buttercup,  my  father's  at- 
tention was  called  to  a  young  man,  who  had  made  several  voy- 
ages in  one  of  the  ships,  and  who  by  promotion  had  risen 
very  rapidly  to  the  position  of  mate,  and  who  by  the  death  of 
his  captain  at  sea,  became  the  master  of  the  vessel.  My 
father  took  great  interest  in  him,  trusted  him  implicitl}^,  and 
introduced  him  into  our  family.  By  some  means  or  other  it 
was  discovered  (perhaps  by  the  young  man's  own  confession), 
that  prior  to  his  employment  by  the  house  of  Bockover  and 
Buttercup,  his  life  had  been  irregular  and  intemperate. 
Whatever  might  have  been  his  past  life,  he  appeared  to  be 
thoroughly  reformed,  and  was  always  particular  to  shun  all 
manner  of  temptation.  He  had  been  in  our  company  some- 
time and  we  had  all  begun  to  think  a  great  deal  of  him. 
When  in  port  on  Sunday,  he  always  went  to  church  with  me, 
and  I  never  had  a  friend  I  thought  so  much  of.  In  fact,  mv 
Little  Sister,  I  soon  learned  to  love  him  as  a  brother.  One  day 
he  gave  me  this  ring."  Sister  Irene's  voice  trembled,  and  a 
tear-drop  stood  in  her  eye,  as  she  withdrew  the  ring  from 
her  finger,  and  handed  it  to  her  companion,  who,  with  her  gaze 
intent  on  the  nun,  held  it  in  her  clasped  hand  while  the  latter 
proceeded : 

"  I  do  not  think  he  ever  realized  the  depth  of  my  affection. 
If  he  ever  loved  me  he  did  not  declare   it,   yet  I  shall  always 


TOM  BURTON.  I55 

believe  that  if  our  association  had  not  been  rudely  broken  up 
he  would  finally  have  done  so. 

"There  seemed  to  be  something  bearing  on  his  mind  which 
made  him  sad  at  times,  tliough  what  it  was  I  never  knew. 
Miss  Buttercup  is  older  than  I  am  and  had  lived  a  gay  life 
up  to  this  time,  and  had  several  suitors,  being  considered 
very  brilliant  and  very  fast.  But  a  most  singular  circum- 
stance attending  all  her  alliances  was  that  every  one  of  her 
beaux,  after  waiting  on  her  a  few  months  became  inebriate, 
and  worthless.  One  after  another  of  these  j^oung  men  were 
thus  used  up  only  to  make  room  for  another.  Well,  one  day 
when  the  bark  on  which  my  young  friend  was  captain,  was 
in  port,  having  just  arrived  with  a  cargo  of  fruit  from  the 
West  Indies,  Miss  Buttercup,  accompanied  by  her  father, 
went  on  board  and  was  presented  to  the  handsome  commander. 
I  was  present  and  saw  at  a  glance  what  a  powerful  effect  her 
great  personal  attractions  had  on  him.  I  was  not  jealous,  but 
knowing  her  as  I  did,  I  feared  for  my  friend  as  I  would  have 
trembled  for  a  brother.  From  that  moment  he  seemed  like 
one  transformed,  as  if  by  the  wand  of  a  magician.  He  did 
not  slight  me,  but  a  mania  for  Miss  Buttercup's  society  seemed 
to  take  entire  possession  of  him.  I  saw  he  was  infatuated, 
and  tried  in  the  most  delicate  way  to  warn  him  of  his  danger. 
Alas,  he  imagined  that  all  my  good  intentions  sprang  from 
self  interest,  and  I  had  the  mortification  of  seeing  my  efforts 
produce  just  the  opposite  effect  from  what  I  intended.  Every 
time  his  vessel  came  in  (and  it  seemed  that  some  occult  power 
assisted  him  in  his  voyages,  he  made  them  so  rapidly),  she 
was  sure  to  meet  him  at  the  wharf,  and  taking  him  from  his 
duties,  kept  him  with  her  until  the  ship  was  ready  to  sail 
again.  This  did  not  last  long  before  he  began  to  show  signs 
of  dissipation. 

From  the  very  best  of  commanders  he  grew  to  be  irritable, 
negligent,  and  untrustworthy.  His  men,  who  had  loved  and 
respected  him  at  first,  soon  deserted  the  ship,  and,  not  being 
able  to  keep  his  crew,  my  father  discharged  him.  In  a  little 
while  Miss  Buttercup  dropped  him  ;  he  lost  caste  in  society, 
and  being  penniless  and  without  friends,  he  joined  the  army 
as  a  private,  and  I  have  never  heard  of  him  since.'' 

"And  the  woman  ?  " 

"  She  went  on  in  her  same  old  waj-.  When  the  Prince  of 
Wales  was  here,  last  year,  she  went  wild  over  him,  and  some 
people  said  she  followed  him  back  to  England.  Since  the 
war  began  she  has  reaped  a  plentiful  harvest  out  of  the  un- 
wary officers,  who,  having  heard  of  her  fame^  are  easily 
caught  in  her  toils," 


156  TOM  BURTON. 

"You  did  not  tell  me  tlie  name  of  your  unfortunate 
friend  ?  " 

"  It  is  in  the  ring." 

"I  have  been  so  interested  in  your  story  I  had  forgotten  I 
had  it."  ^  ^      ' 

The  Little  Sister  held  the  ring  up  to  the  candle,  looking 
inside  of  it.  She  read,  turned  it  round,  then  read  again.  The 
ring  dropped  from  her  fingers,  and  she  staggered  into  Sister 
Irene's  arms. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

TIME  HEALS  ALL  WOUXDS. 

OxcE  more  we  cross  the  Chesapeake.  Erom  the  chaos  of 
rebellion,  the  general  commanding  the  Eastern  Shore  forces 
soon  evolved  a  condition  of  order,  security  and  confidence. 
A  provisional  civil  government  was  inaugurated,  the  courts 
reopened,  and  those  who  were  so  disposed  resumed  their  or- 
dinary occupations.  There  was  an  occasional  altercation  be- 
tween the  soldiers  and  citizens,  some  little  trouble  growing 
out  of  the  changed  relations  of  master  and  servant,  but,  upon 
the  whole,  there  was  \ery  little  to  complain  of,  and  those  who 
took  advantage  of  the  new  order  of  things  and  went  to  work, 
found  business  of  all  kinds  remunerative. 

Colonel  Moore  being  dead,  his  creditors  unwisely  moved  a 
settlement  of  his  estate,  and  his  large  tract  of  land  at  Moore- 
field,  as  well  as  other  estate,  was  sold  at  public  auction.  Forc- 
ing a  sale  at  such  a  crisis  was  bad,  both  for  creditors 
and  the  deceased  colonel's  heirs.  The  former  were  justly 
punished  for  their  cupidity,  and  poor  Miss  Kate  left  penni- 
less. 

The  elegant  farm,  where  the  family  had  resided  for  gener- 
ations back,  and  which,  three  years  before  the  war,  would 
have  sold  for  twenty  thousand  dollars,  was  knocked  down  to 
Colonel  Burton  for  the  paltry  sum  of  five  thousand.  No 
situation  could  have  been  more  deplorable  than  that  of  the 
luckless  daughter  of  the  once  proud  aristocrat. 

Born  in  the  lap  of  luxury ;  reared  in  the  midst  of  extrava- 
gance and  hospitality  that  knew  no  prudence,  but  in  all  things 
characterized  by  almost  a  wanton  prodigality  ;  petted  from 
girlhood,  flattered  by  attention,  and  warped  in  the  school  of 
prejudice,  no  one  was  less  calculated  to  face  a  frowning  worl4 
than  Kate  Moore, 


TOM  BCRTOX.  157 

Stricken  almost  to  death's  door  by  the  climax  of  all  her 
misfortunes — the  loss  of  her  mother  under  the  painful  circum- 
stances heretofore  related,  as  well  as  that  of  her  father,  equally 
pitiable,  if  not  so  horrifying,  now  reduced  to  poverty,  and 
without  a  relative — who  would  take  care  of  her  ?  Who  could 
undertake  to  supply  a  tithe  of  those  comforts  she  would  nat- 
urally look  for,  and  certainly  miss  ?  At  Dr.  Savage's  she 
was  once  the  most  welcome  guest ;  the  entire  household  felt 
honored  in  her  visits.  The  very  negroes  danced  to  see  "  ole 
massa"  Colonel  ^Moore's  coach  drive  up  to  the  gate.  Kow, 
the  feminine  head  of  that  family  began  to  cast  about  for  an 
equivalent  for  the  3'oung  lady's  board.  Instead  of  servants 
to  attend  her  every  beck  and  call,  Miss  Kate,  as  soon  as  she 
was  convalescent,  was  left  to  wait  on  herself,  and  even  to  do 
her  own  washing,  make  her  own  bed,  and  keep  her  own  room 
in  order. 

Miss  Savage  was  kind  enough  in  her  indolent  way,  but  it 
was  a  kindness  of  such  a  don't-care,  conservative  sort,  that 
went  for  nothing,  and  passed  for  full  value  at  that. 

Miss  Blake  was  brisk  and  practical  as  ever,  taking  matters 
as  she  found  them,  and  chiefly  exercised  about  the  collection 
of  her  bills. 

The  old  doctor,  superannuated  and  hen-pecked,  never  in- 
terfered with  family  matters,  though  the  scape-goat  for  all 
the  ills  which  hard  times  had  brought  upon  them. 

Colonel  Burton  still  called  frequently  to  inquire  after  Miss 
Moore's  health,  but  seldom  alighted  from  his  horse,  or  saw 
the  object  of  his  solicitations.  Whether  she  did  not  desire 
to  meet  him,  or  whether  it  was  disagreeable  lo  the  family  for 
her  to  entertain  him,  he  did  not  know  or  seek  to  know. 

The  doctor's  family  was  large,  many  of  the  girls  of  Miss 
Blake's  seminary  being  boarders  in  the  house,  and  servants 
in  great  demand.  It  was  as  much  as  they  could  do  to  make 
both  ends  meet.  Farming  had  been  neglected  the  year 
before,  provisions  were  scarce,  and  very  little  money  afloat, 
except  Confederate  scrip,  which  was  worthless.  Mrs.  Doctor 
Caleb    was  pinched  to  find  something  to  put  on  the  table. 

"  I  do  declare,  we  shall  all  starve  to  death,  unless  you  get 
up  and  go  out  and  do  something,"  she  would  say  to  her  liege 
lord.  "You  sit  here  all  day,  looking  into  the  fire,  and  see 
me  put  to  all  kinds  of  extremities  to  hunt  up  something  to 
put  on  the  table,  without  doing  one  solitary  thing  to  help 
me.  I  should  think  you  might  chop  a  little  wood.  And 
now  there  is  Kate  Moore  on  our  hands.  I  suppose  we  shall  have 
to  support  her  as  long  as  she  lives."  Of  course  ^Mrs,  Doctor 
Caleb   didn't  ever  expect  to  die  herself. 


158  TOM  BURTON. 

The  worthy  disciple  of  Esculapius  was  too  much  accus- 
tomed to  such  broadsides  to  venture  any  reply  to  them,  so  he 
simply  cleared  his  throat,  blinked  under  his  gold  spectacles, 
and  remained  silent. 

"  If  Kate  was  any  kin  to  us,  or  had  any  claim  on  us,  there 
would  be  some  reason  in  our  putting  ourselves  to  trouble  for 
her,  but  why  that  dirty,  good-for-nothing  Tom  Burton  should 
put  her  off  on  us  is  more  than  I  can  account  for,  and,  I  will 
just  tell  you,  more  I  shall  not  put  up  with  it." 

^'  Lord,  Jane,  do  hush,  The  poor  girl  is  of  good  family, 
she  has  been  very  unfortunate,  and  has  no  friends  or  home. 
Don't  be  so  hard.  I  really  do  not  know  what  the  poor  child 
will  do,"  the  old  man  ventured  to  say. 

^'Poor  child,  indeed  !  You  had  better  begin  to  pity  your 
own  daughter.  If  this  kind  of  thing  goes  on  you'll  have 
something  else  to  do  than  sit  here  by  the  fire  and  toast  and 
scratch  your  shins,  and  pity  old  Colonel  Moore's  brats." 

The  old  doctor  seized  his  gold-headed  walking-stick  and  left 
his  better  half  indulging  in  her  favorite  pastime,  unable  to 
stand  the  fire  any  longer. 

The  last  words  he  caught  were  : 

"  Let  \iQX  friend,  Colonel  Burton,  take  care  of  her.'* 

It  was  not  necessary  for  Kate  Moore  to  hear  such  tirades, 
to  be  sensible  of  them.  They  left  an  impression  on  the  very 
atmosphere.  The  little  bitter  waves  set  in  motion  by  a 
shrewish  tongue,  rolled  back  to  the  walls,  and  reverberated 
for  hours  and  days,  and  while  they  were  not  appreciable  to 
the  ordinary  auditory  organ,  they  did  not  escape  the  catelep- 
tic  nerves  of  a  sensitive  female.  She  felt  she  was  not  desired 
now.  With  this  thought  ever  uppermost  in  her  mind,  she 
loathed  the  very  food  she  eat.  It  was  hard  to  bear  the  ill- 
concealed  cleverness  of  Mrs.  Doctor  Caleb,  the  stupid  in- 
difference of  Miss  Savage,  the  cold  and  worldly-wise  ways  of 
Miss  Blake,  and  the  cruelly  curious  insinuations  of  the  school- 
girls. 

She  asked  herself  how  long  she  was  to  be  doomed  to  this 
new  torture  ;  and  determined  to  leave  at  the  first  oppor- 
tunity. 

But  fate  was  still  not  appeased.  More  sacrifices  were  still 
called  for.  The  news  from  Dixie  was  gorgeous.  But  at  last 
sensitiveness  ceased  to  respond  to  any  stimulant  no  matter 
how  caustic.  The  wounds  began  to  cicatrize.  There  comes 
a  time  when  the  galled  jade  ceases  to  wince.  Miss  Kate 
Moore,  no  longer  to  be  called  poor  Kate,  because  of  sympathy, 
had  reached  that  point.     As  stoical  as  the  sphynx,  she  heard 


TOM  BUliTOX.  159 

of  Claude's  escapade,  without  feeling  and  without  comment. 
There  was  but  one  longing  in  all  her  heart.  Like  one  who, 
wheu  sick,  lies  and  thinks  of  all  the  good  things  he  has  despis- 
ed in  days  of  health  and  happiness,  so  Kate  remembered  Mary 
Burton,  and  said  :  "  If  she  were  alive  I  should  have  a  friend." 
She  had  no  tears.  They  were  frozen  up  long  ago.  The 
muscles  of  her  face  became  fixed  and  rigid.  Her  hair  turned 
gray.  From  a  full  beautiful  form  ready  to  burst  from  its 
confines,  in  the  full  exuberance  of  its  maturity,  she  shriveled 
up  into  the  straight,  austere  outlines  of  a  spinster,  angular 
and  sapless. 

Kate  Moore  was  wrecked,  but  not  humbled.  Crushed,  but 
not  ruined.  Her  soul  had  soared  above  earth's  fiercest 
storms,  and  now  she  asked  odds  of  nobody.  A  neighbor's 
help  being  gone  (a  widowed  lady  living  alone)  Kate  volunteer- 
ed and  w^ent  with  her  as  cook  ;  and  with  her  first  day's  work 
came  the  premonition  of  spring-time,  and  the  light  of  hope 
into  a  heart  whose  midnight  had  been,  not  long,  it  is  true, 
but  as  black  as  the  dwelling-place  of  Erebus. 

Colonel  Burton  heard  of  her  resolve  with  pain  but  could 
do  nothing  to  avert  it.  He  was  afraid  to  offer  her  any  assist- 
ance, knowing  as  he  did  her  independent  spirit.  He  enter- 
tained the  hope,  however,  that  he  might  be  able  to  see  her 
oftener  now,  and  set  about  to  devise  in  his  mind  some  way  to 
assist  her  without  compromising  her  self-respect. 

"  He  visited  his  newly  purchased  farm,  where  his  tenants, 
the  bride  and  groom,  were  still  residing,  and  constituted 
Uncle  Daniel  his  overseer  for  the  present,  saying  : 

"  I  will  allow  you  meat  and  corn-meal,  give  you  the  use  of 
a  mule  and  an  ox,  and  provide  you  with  corn  and  fodder  for 
farming.  You  may  have  the  use  of  this  outfit  for  a  year  and 
pay  me  for  them  at  the  end  of  the  season.  You  and  the 
witch  may  now  go  to  work  for  yourselves,  and  if  you  both 
sit  in  the  hut  and  do  nothing,  I  will  turn  j^ou  out." 

The  old  man  was  very  thankful  for  the  kind  favor,  and 
although  Susie  thought  it  very  hard  lines  for  free  people,  she 
saw  nothing  more  promising  even  though  it  was  the  year  of 
"  Jubelo."  She  accepted  the  situation  and  kept  the  quarters, 
while  her  husband  and  a  hired  boy  went  to  work  with  a  will, 
and  cultivating  the  richest  lands  about  the  dung-hill,  soon 
had  a  good  prospect  for  a  crop  of  Irish  potatoes,  green 
peas,  etc. 

All  winter  the  Federals  were  busy  extending  their  lines  of 
communication  down  the  peninsula,  connecting  Old  Point 
by  lines  of  telegraph  and  steamboats  with   the  Xorth,  and  it 


160  TOM  BURTON. 

only  now  remained  for  them  to  capture  Norfolk,  to  make  the 
conquest  of  Eastern  Virginia  complete. 

While  passing  up  and  down  the  road,  which  he  frequentl}* 
did.  Colonel  Burton  never  failed  to  pay  his  respects  to  Kate 
Moore,  seeing  her  oftener  now,  and  winning  her  confidence 
more  and  more,  and  making  her  hard  lot  aj^pear  less  onerous, 
by  the  assurance  that  she  had  at  least  one  friend  upon  whom 
she  could  rely  whenever  she  chose  to  acknowledge  him  as  such. 
He  noticed  with  feelings  of  deep  commiseration,  her  altered 
looks  and  plain  attire,  and  could  not  rest  until  h«  had  raised 
her  to  a  position  more  befitting  her  birth  and  education. 

As  the  spring  came  on  and  the  tide  of  war  rolled  further 
and  further  back  from  the  sea-coast,  and  the  noise  of  booming 
cannon  became  less  frequent,  the  fields  grew  greener  in  the 
Eastern  Shore,  and  the  people  became  more  satisfied  with 
their  lot.  It  is  doubtful,  even  now,  if  they  would  have  again 
cast  their  lot  with  the  Confederacy  had  they  been  allowed  to 
choose  for  themselves. 

All  the  troops  except  the  one  regiment  of  Colonel  Burton 
had  been  ordered  to  the  front,  and  he  longed  to  be  gone 
also. 

He  was  now  provost-marshal,  and  his  considerate  adminis- 
tration of  affairs  won  for  him  the  respect  of  everybody. 
People  now  began  to  see  wherein  they  had  been  wrong,  and 
felt  like  doing  penance  for  all  the  wrong  they  had  done  him 
and  his  family. 

At  every  indication  of  the  return  of  good  feeling,  Colonel 
Burton's  heart  smote  him  with  an  irresistible  feeling  of  re- 
gret and  sadness  to  think  his  sister  was  not  there  to  hail  it. 
Poor  thing,  her  faith  had  failed  her  just  when  the  day  was 
breaking  ! 

Calling  on  Miss  Moore  one  day,  he  said: 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  forgotten  your  promise  and  violated 
your  treaty.     You  have  not  used  me  as  you  agreed  to." 

"  It  is  because,  Colonel,  I  have  not  needed  j^ou.  When  I 
had  friends  and  property  to  protect — those  whose  lives  were 
near  and  dear  unto  me — for  their  sakes,  I  was  willing  to  treat 
with  you.  But  since  I  am  left  alone,  I  hope  I  may  not  have 
any  further  demand  for  your  services." 

"  I  must  admire  your  unselfishness.  Miss  Moore  ;  but  I  am 
grieved  to  see  you  in  such  a  menial  position,  and  would,  if 
you  will  allow  me,  place  you  in  a  situation  more  becom- 
ing your  former  station." 

"  Colonel  Burton,  I  deem  your  proposition  an  honorable 
one,  prompted  by  a  feeling  as  high  souled  as  it  is   generous. 


TOM  BURTON,  1(3 j^ 

Things  were  very  diiferent  when  we  made  the  treaty  to  which 
you  have  referred,  as  I  have  just  said,  but  when  the  very  au- 
tonomy of  one  of  the  contracting  parties  is  de'stroyed  the 
treaty  exists  no  hunger.  Now  tliat  I  am  so  poor  that  there 
are  none  left  to  do  me  reverence,  with  not  a  friend  in  tlie 
world,  I  feel  tliat  my  proud  spirit  will  not  bend  to  any  prop- 
osition which  implies  an  obligation.'' 

"  Now,  Miss  Moore,  that  is  the  very  reason  you  should  ac- 
cept friendship  when  it  is  proffered  in  good  faith.  Now  you 
but  pine  here,  and  I  cannot  be  happy  and  see  you  drudging 
on  in  such  a  lowly  place.  I  need  not  remind  you  of  your  prom- 
ise, that  when  the  war  ended  with  the  subjugation  of  the 
South,  you  would  listen  to  me." 

"  Neither  is  the  South  conquered  yet,  sir,  nor,  I  trust,  are 
all  the  brave  men  dead  who  were  fighting  her  battles.  Some 
may  be  dead  in  memory  forever  as  they  ought  to  be,  but  I 
trust  all  are  not  poltroons.  I  am  sorry,  sir,  you  referred  to 
that  matter." 

''  I  would  not  wound  your  feelings.  Miss,  and  far  be  it  from 
my  purpose  to  recall  unpleasant  memories.  I  was  only  over 
zealous  in  presenting  my  case.  Now  you  need  fresh  air  and 
recreation.  To-morrow,  some  gentlemen  of  the  county,  with 
the  ladies  of  their  family,  will  give  a  fox-hunt.  I  should 
very  much  delight  to  have  you  accompany  lid.  Can  you  not 
go  ?  ^  You  may  ride  my  horse.  You  know  what  a  fine  leaper 
Ben  is.  He  will  carry  you  quite  safely,  as  he  did  on  a  former 
occasion." 

"  Colonel  Burton,  you  do  not  consider  what  you  ask.  It  is 
only  a  few  months  ago  since  I  lost  my  parents.  How  could 
I  partake  of  pleasures  so  gay,  in  so  short  a  time  ;  What 
would  people  say  who  know  me  ?  And  in  your  company  ? 
They  would  never  cease  to  lash  me  with  scandal,  and  tliey 
would  have  a  right  to  do  so.  Now,  let  me  speak  candidly, 
and  tell  you  that  the  time  has  not  yet  arrived,  if  it  ever  should, 
where  you  may  without  a  great  injury  to  my  feelings,  make 
such  a  proposition." 

Colonel  Burton  for  once  bit  his  lip  in  vexation  and  disap- 
pointment. 

"I  sincerely  beg  your  pardon.  Miss  Moore,  and  promise 
you  that  the  next  time  I  have  occasion  to  speak  with  you  on 
any  subject,  will  be  of  your  appointment.  I  have  tried  to 
avoid  any  appearance  of  taking  advantage  of  you,  as  I  swear 
I  have  had  no  such  desire.  If  you  have  so  construed  any  of 
my  acts,  you  have  made  a  mistake  every  time  you  have  done  so. 
If  you  still  look  upon  me  as  base-born,  as  beneath  you  in 


162  TOM  BVBTOm 

blood,  breeding  or  intellect,  let  me,  craving  your  forgiveness 
for  past  offences,  assure  you  that  it  shall  never  be  my  fault 
again,  should  you  suffer  in  future  from  the  same  cause."  As 
he  said  this  the  Colonel,  with  his  face  slightly  colored,  bowed 
himself  out,  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  away,  leaving  Kate 
Moore  with  her  hands  crossed  over  her  lap,  and  with  a  coun- 
tenance more  sober  and  reflective  than  she  had  ever  before 
worn. 

It  was  Sunday  afternoon  ;  and  Kate  retired  to  her  room, 
threw  herself  on  her  bed,  and  fought  with  contending  emotions. 
Could  she  ever  reconcile  her  sense  of  pride  with  the  idea  of 
an  intimate  friendship  with  Colonel  Burton  ?  That  was  the 
question. 

She  began  to  realize  that  she  had  treated  badly  the  best 
friend  she  had  in  the  world.  It  was  not  so  much  a  question 
of  would  it  pay  to  continue  to  do  so,  as,  was  it  right  in  a  moral 
point  of  view  ? 

Certainl}^,  Colonel  Burton,  as  an  individual,  had  done  noth- 
ing towards  reducing  her  to  her  present  condition.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  had  from  the  very  first  endeavored  to  name 
her  lot  as  easy  as  possible,  and  had  done  as  much  as  in  him 
lay  to  avert  her  misfortunes. 

How  long  ought  she  to  persist  in  treating  him  as  she  had  ? 
It  was  now  her  destitution  which  most  of  all  stood  in  the 
way  of  a  complete  reconciliation.  Before  it  was  her  exalta- 
tion ;  now  it  was  her  debasement.  Independent,  she  could 
clash  swords  with  him,  and  if  he  won,  all  right.  Now  to 
condescend  was  too  much  like  suing  for  terms. 

With  Claude  now  categorically  removed  from  the  field, 
and  Colonel  Tom  Burton  rising  fast  in  social  favor  and  the 
possession  of  worldly  goods,  was  it  not  politic,  at  least,  to  re- 
ceive him  with  common  politeness  ? 

"Am  I  justified  in  my  position  ;  have  I  always  been  right 
or  am  I  wrong  ?  If  I  could  ever  bring  my  mind  to  think 
that  my  former  idea  in  regard  to  matters  social,  religious,  and 
political  was  incorrect,  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  reconsider 
my  feelings  toward  Colonel  Burton.  Until  I  can  come  to 
such  conclusion,  it's  no  use  trying.'' 

Thus  she  argued  to  herself  until  she  dropped  asleep. 


TOM  BUUTON,  1G3 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

JUST  BEFORE  THE  BATTLE. 

The  first  event  of  any  consequence  in  the  East  in  1862,  was 
the  battle  of  Roanoke  Island. 

The  attention  of  the  reader  has  been  once  before  directed 
to  this  insignificant  spot.  A  further  description  of  the  place 
where  died  one  of  Virginia's  most  gallant  sons,  0.  Jennings 
"\^'ise,  son  of  the  general  commanding  the  post,  may  not  be 
out  of  place.  It  lies  just  within  the  outer  span  of  beach  in 
Croatan  Sound.  Its  distance  from  other  land  is  considerable, 
the  nearest  being  in  a  due  west  course  to  Alligator  Swamp, 
and  is  known  to  history  as  the  spot  where  Sir  AValter  Raleigh 
attempted  to  plant  his  first  colony. 

Adopting  a  very  unwise  course.  General  Wise  began  to 
fortify  this  spot  early  in  the  present  year.  Torpedoes  were 
laid  in  the  narrow  channel  which  runs  near  the  island,  con- 
necting the  Currituck  and  Pamlico  sounds. 

On  the  island  itself  were  constructed  two  forts,  one  near 
the  centre  and  the  other  at  the  north  end.  Eor  the  special 
purpose  of  reducing  this  place  and  gaining  access  to  the 
sounds  the  Federals  were  simultaneously  fitting  out  an  ex- 
pedition at  Fortress  Monroe,  waiting  only  for  the  first  days 
of  spring  to  make  a  descent  upon  the  southern  coast  through 
Hatteras  Inlet. 

It  was  now  about  the  first  of  February — a  winter  month 
to  be  sure,  and  in  the  Xorth  usually  as  inclement  as  December, 
but  in  South-East  Virginia  and  the  Carolinas,  owing  to  the 
near  proximity  of  the  Gulf  Stream,  so  mild  that  crocuses  and 
violets  are  in  bloom  in  the  open  air,  and  birds  mating  even 
as  early  as  the  first  of  the  month. 

Captain  Evans  had  been  up  at  Xag's  Head,  shooting  duck 
for  the  old  general,  but  now  that  a  battle  was  hourly  ex- 
pected at  the  island,  his  solicitude  for  Sammy  would  not  al- 
low him  to  be  separated  from  the  boy  any  longer,  so  that  the 
sixth  of  February  found  him  scouting  with  his  nephew  near 
the  south  end  of  the  island,  from  which  direction  the  Fed- 
erals were  expected  to  approach. 

Recent  secret  despatches  from  Fortress  Monroe  were  to  the 
effect  that  the  ^eat  Bumside  fleet^  so  long  in  preparation^ 


164  TOM  BURTON. 

had  already  left  the  Capes  of  Virginia  and  was  on  its  way  to 
Hatteras.  It  had  been  espied  the  day  before  off  Nag's  Head, 
and  was  already  reported  as  having  entered  the  sound  below, 
and  was  at  that  very  moment  sailing  up  in  the  direction  of 
Koanoke. 

At  sunset  on  that  day.  Captain  Evans  sent  Sammy  to  the 
top  of  a  tall  pine ;  and  the  lad  had  no  sooner  reached  his  ele- 
vated perch  than  he  reported  a  great  number  of  vessels  of  war 
and  other  craft  steaming  northward  and  stretching  from  side 
to  side  of  the  Croatan. 

Signaling  a  vidette,  the  old  seaman  sent  a  despatch  to 
Fort  Bartow,  the  most  southern  of  the  forts,  and  then  he  and 
his  nephew  sat  down  by  the  camp-fire  to  discuss  the  events 
of  the  morrow. 

"  We  uns  shall  hev  werry  warm  work  on  this  'ere  Ireland 
in  less  nor  two  days,  Samni}'." 

"So  we  uns  shall,  uncle,  and  I  jist  b'lieve  it'll  come  to- 
morrer." 

"Xo,  boy;  I  kalkerlate  not,"  replied  the  old  sailor,  slowly 
casting  his  eyes  around  and  upward  toward  the  sky,  which 
was  then  ablaze  with  the  combined  light  of  moon  and   stars. 

"  I'm  reclined  to  think,  from  the  repearance  of  the  firna- 
ment,  as  well  as  from  the  bellerin'  of  the  surf,  that  we  shall 
hev  a  storm  by  mornin',  m  which  case  they'll  likely  not  give 
us  battle.  Them  Yankees  are  in  the  sound,  howsomever,  and 
are  not  a  goin'  out  'thout  pay  in'  their  respects  to  we  uns. 
They'll  give  we  uns  a  bresh  as  sure  as  you  live,  Sammy. 
They've  got  some  ev  ther  long  Toms  aboard  ev  their  gun- 
boats what'll  wake  up  the  sedge-hens  bime-by." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  when  Sammy  said  in 
a  voice  slightly  husky: 

"  I  wonder  ef  they  knows  where  we  uns  is,  uncle  ?  " 

«  Who,  Sammy  ?'" 

"Why,  mammy,  and  all  them  on  the  Eastern  Shore." 

"  Never  mind  them,  Sammy.  Please  don't  mention  them. 
It  makes  me  feel  kinder  bilious  whenever  I  think  of  whar 
we  uns  is,  and  how  we  uns  come  to  be  here.  And  then  3'er 
angel  mother,  Sammy  !  I  tells  you,  boy,  this  here  is  no  place 
for  any  decent  white  man  to  be  ef  it  mought  be  revoided. 
But  I  s'pose  it  can't  be  helped,  and  we  uns  must  sell  our 
lives  as  dearly  as  possible  when  it  comes  to  whether  they 
shall  kill  us  or  we  shall  kill  them.  Whar  we  uns  '11  be  in  a 
few  more  nights  arter  this,  God  in  heaven  only  knows." 

"Well,  ef  we  uns  is  got  to  go  any  way,  uncle,  I'd  jist  like 
to  go  back  to  Norfolk  once  more." 


TOM  BUBTON.  105 

"What  fur,  Sammy  ? '^ 

Tlie  extremity  of  the  situation  had  emboldened' the  youth, 
and  he  replied  : 

"  What  fur,  but  to  see  that  little  un  we  fotch  across  the 
bay.  I  think  ef  I  could  lay  my  eyes  on  her  nice  face  once 
more  I  could  die  right  happy." 

"This  is  no  time,  Sammy,  terhev  your  mind  runnin'  arter 
gals." 

"Do  you  remagine  she  ar  thar  yet,  uncle  ?  " 
"Who,  Sammy?" 

"Why,  that  gal,  uncle.  That  un  you  told  me  had  gone 
with  the  Sistern  at  the  horsepital." 

Sammy  began  tc»  be   provoked  at  the  old  man's  stupidity. 

"  Well,  thar  is    no  recasion  fer    your  gittin'  out   o'   humor 

and   snappin'  off   my  head.     Ef  it'll   do    you    any    good    ter 

know  it,  I  do  b'lieve  she  ar  thar.     But,   Sammy,  that  ar  gal 

are  too  highfalutin'  fer  j'ou." 

Sammy  sat  in  his  usual  attitude,  gazing  into  the  camp- 
fire  ;  and  to  the  last  remark  of  his  uncle  made  no  reply. 
It  was  a  glorious  night,  warm,  pleasant,  quiet. 
The  cohonk  of  the  wild  goose  out  in  the  sound,  the  crank- 
ing of  the  long-legged  crane  as  he  flapped  to  his  roost  in  the 
tall  pines,  the  chatter  of  the  migrating  brant,  as  flock  after 
flock  they  flew  over  the  island,  bound  on  their  northward 
journey,  and  the  lonesome  bugle  notes  of  the  distant  loon 
were  all  the  sounds  that  disturbed  the  stillness  of  the  night, 
save  the  dull  moaning  of  the  sullen  surf  along  the  outer 
beach. 

Around  the  camp-fire  as  it  flared  up  or  sank  into  flameless 
embers,  where  the  two  sad  Eastern  Shoremen  sat,  grim  shad- 
ows flitted  in  and  out  among  the  spectral  trees  like  ghosts  of 
Indians  gliding  back  from  their  lonely  graves,  to  revisit  the 
scenes  of  their  old  hunting  ground. 

At  last,  the  old  man  broke  the  silence. 
"  This  here  ireland  war  haunted  in   old  times.     It  are   the 
identikal  place  whar  Columbus    landed,  Sammy,  or  some    ev 
them  people  who  diskivered  this  country." 
"Sure  'nuff,  uncle?" 

"  Fact,  truth,  Sammy  ;  and  it  war  on  this  same  ireland  that 
the  fust  white  chile  war  born  inter  this  Amerikay.  Her 
name  war  Wirginny  Dare,  and  they  say  as  how  when  her 
grandfather  went  away  to  England  arter  more  provisions  and 
left  the  colony  here,  and  when  he  cum  back  again  they  was 
all  gone  somewhar  towards  the  Croatan,  nobody  never 
knewed  whar,     Arter  that,  howsoinever,  it  Wc^r  allpwed  thf^t 


166  TOM  BURTON. 

thar  war  a  milk-white  doe  on  this  here  Ireland,  what  used  to 
be  seen  coursin'  up  and  down  this  beach  mongst  the  other 
deer  whenever  they  had  their  hunts ;  but  although  many 
who  war  considered  fust  rate  shots  had  a  crack  at  her,  nobody 
could  fotch  that  milk-white  doe  down. 

Thar  war  an  ole  Injun  a  livin'  here  on  this  here  Ireland 
at  that  time — a  very  nice  sort  of  a  heathen — who  'lowed  ef 
some  hunter  would  take  and  mould  a  silwer  bullet  and  shoot 
at  that  milk-white  doe  with  that,  they  could  hit  her. 

So  arter  a  while  one  of  them  rich  fellers  what  used  to  live 
here,  got  a  silver  ball  and  put  it  inter  his  gun,  and  the  next 
time  they  all  went  a  huntin',  this  rich  plantationisher  sot 
himself  by  the  path  whar  the  deer  war  to  pass,  and  when  the 
flock  kum  by,  sure  'nuff,  thar  she  war,  that  milk-white  doe. 
Then  the  man  ups  and  blazes  away  and  down  kums  the 
milk-white  doe.  Then  he  runs  to  cut  her  throat,  and  when  he 
stoops  down  with  his  knife,  a  glitterin'  In  his  hand,  he  looks 
and  sees  that  the  face  ev  that  milk-white  doe  war  the  face  ev 
that  child,  Wirginny  Dare  ;  and  remediately  that  man  turns 
pale  and  falls  down  dead." 

Sammy  shuddered. 

"  And  they  say  as  how  that  milk-white  doe  courses  up  and 
down  this  here  Ireland  yit,  and  that  man  what  shot  her,  walks 
about  here  lookin'  fer  her  yit." 

Sammy  shrugged  his  shoulders,  cast  his  eyes  around  him, 
and  said  In  a  voice  lower  and  hoarser  than  usual : 

"  Hush,  uncle,  it's  too  solemcholly  here  In  this  place  to  tell 
sich  yarns.     Let's  think  about  something  else." 

"  Yes,  I  'low,  Sammy,  this  here  is  rather  a  supernat'ral  look- 
in'  place  anyhow,  and  It  mought  be  that  we  uns'  ghosts 
mought  be  a  walkin'  round  here  In  less  nor  two  days.  It's 
not  all  so  still  and  quiet  lookin'  for  nothin'.  It's  gwine  ter 
be  hot  work  about  here  'fore  long,  Sammy,  mark  what  I  say." 

"  Ef  you  thinks  anything  like  onto  that,  uncle,  wouldn't  It 
be  the  properest  thing  fer  we  uns  to  be  makin'  some  plans  to 
rescape,  should  we  'uns  be  kotch  into  a  tight  place  ?  " 

"  Which  are  all  very  thotf ul  ev  a  boy  ev  your  age  and  un 
derstandin',  Sammy;  and  so  I  hev  already.  You  know  that 
small  gut  what  makes  up  on  the  eastern  side  ev  the  Ireland 
back  ev  the  fort,  'bout  half-ways  from  this  end  ev  the  Ireland 
to  t'other  ?  " 

"Yes,  uncle,  I  'members  It.  In  course  I  does." 

"  Well,  I'se  got  a  cunner  hid  in  the  rushes  up  that  gut  thar, 
and  In  case  times  gits  too  warm,  we  uns  will  try  and  find 
thfVt  ar  punuer^  and  when  we  uns  once  gits  over  onto  that  ar 


TOM  BURTOm  167 

beach  over  tliar  that  milk-white  doe  couldn't  kotch  us.  You 
see,  Samm}-,  as  I  war  the  one  to  cause  all  this  here  trouble, 
it  is  werry  meet  and  proper  that  I  make  way  ev  rescape  fer  we 
uns.  On  that  ar  beach  we  uns  can  soon  travel  to  Norfolk, 
you  see." 

At  mention  of  the  name  of  that  old  city,  Sammy's  face 
brightened  up  with  a  glow  of  real  joy. 

"  I  does  so  want  ter  git  back  once  more  to  that  old  town. 
This  here  is  no  healthy  place  fer  we  uns  noway,  uncle. 
These  bogs  is  full  ev  ager  and  fever,  and  ef  we  uns  stays 
about  here  much  longer,  we  'uns  '11  die  anyway  whether  we 
uns  is  shot  or  no,"  and  from  a  smile  of  pleasure,  the  boy's 
face  was  elongated  to  an  expression  of  supreme  wisdom. 

"  I'm  reclined  ter  think,  Sammy,  thar  are  somethin'  about 
here  wus  than  ager  and  fevers  by  the  way  them  ar  skyrockets 
is  a  flyin'  about  down  yonder  in  the  sound,  a  frightenin'  all 
these  nice  wild  fowls  away."  The  old  man  stood  up  and 
looked  southward.  "  I  see  the  lights  ev  them  ar  gun  boats 
a  gleamin'  over  the  water  like  sarpents'  eyes.  It  war  a  werry 
misfortionable  thing  fer  we  uns  to  git  kotch  in  this  awkward 
predikament,  and  all  my  own  fault,  too,  Sammy.  Ef  I  hadn't 
a  gone  into  them  ar  varieties  that  night — well,  ef  we  uns 
ever  gits  outten  this  here  scrape,  we  uns  '11  be  werry  lucky 
that's  sartin.  Pile  on  some  ev  them  pine  knots,  Sammy,  it's 
gitten  kinder  cold  as  the  night  revances.  Them  ar  wild  geese 
out  thar  in  the  sound  are  a  keepin'  on  a  h —  ev  a  noise,  I 
s'pose  they  is  a  thinkin'  ev  goin'  away  soon,  and  are  a  bidden 
us  farewell,"  and  the  old  man  yawned  as  if  he  was  getting 
weary. 

Sammy  did  as  he  was  bidden,  and  the  old  man  spread  out 
his  blanket  on  the  ground  and  threw  himself  down  upon  it 
with  a  groan,  and  was  soon  snoring  like  a  giant.  Not  so 
the  boy ;  with  his  knees  in  his  arms,  he  sat  squatted  on  a 
log  of  wood,  the  picture  of  grim  despair.  No  doubt  he  was 
thinking  of  that  other  time  he  kept  guard  by  the  bay  shore, 
when  the  Little  Sister  slept  by  his  watch-fire.  Poor  boy !  he 
never  appreciated  his  position  in  life,  except  when  he  thought 
of  her.  Nor  would  he  then  permit  such  a  stern  and  unwel- 
come fact  to  disturb  his  dream,  or  demolish  the  castles  which 
his  crude  imagination  was  forever  building  of  the  thing 
which  never  could  come  to  pass.  No  matter,  they  gave  him 
comfort,  and  like  many  of  our  own  building,  were  all  the  more 
enchanting  because  of  their  improbabilities.  The  face  of  the 
girl  was  ever  present  with  him.  Her  voice  was  in  every  sound, 
her  features  depicted  on  every  object.     Like  an   ever-present 


168  TOM  BURTON. 

fairy,  she  gamboled  in  all  his  dreams,  the  central  figure  in  all 
his  crude  fancies,  and  to-morrow  or  the  next  day,  whenever 
he  should  go  into  battle,  her  name  would  be  the  sign  by 
which  he  would  conquer,  or  the  last  to  linger  on  his  dying 
lips.  Poor  boy!  lie  sat  there  brooding  over  these  things, 
while  the  old  man  slept  and  snored,  while  the  solemn  surf 
surging  up  and  down  the  coast  moaned  like  a  disconsolate 
lioness  bereft  of  her  whelps,  and  the  slow  weary  hours  of  the 
night  passed  away,  and  the  dawn  drew  nigh,  and  the  moon, 
already  sunk  behind  the  sound,  no  longer  made  spectral 
figures  of  the  scraggy  cedars  which  stood  around — sat  there 
nodding  over  the  smouldering  coals  not  altogether  heedless  of 
the  coming  morrow,  when  ten  thousand  muskets  would  be 
pointed  at  his  devoted  head,  until  the  voice  of  his  uncle 
called  him  from  his  cramped  position,  his  long  gray  coat  al- 
ready soaked  with  the  rain  that  was  falling  fast,  and  the 
leaden  clouds  quick  flying  overhead,  presaging  a  wet  and 
gloomy  day. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    BATTLE. 

When  the  dull  morning  had  dawned  sufficiently  for  the 
two  scouts  to  see  objects  well  at  a  distance,  there  appeared  in 
the  sound,  to  the  southward,  a  terrible  but  magnificent  sight. 

Prom  side  to  side  of  the  broad  Sound  spread  an  unbroken 
line  of  advancing  vessels.  Thirtj'-five  gun-boats  led  the  van, 
followed  by  more  than  that  number  of  transports. 

Captain  Evans  shrugged  his  shoulders  and,changinghis 
morning  quid  from  jaw  to  jaw,  turned  toward  his  wet  and 
chilly-looking  nephew  and  remarked  : 

"We  uns  here  on  this  ireland  are  no  more  nor  a  muskeeter  to 
them  uns  what  is  a  comin'.  We'll  be  just  nowhar  by 
night,  Sammy." 

''  Are  you  skeered,  uncle  ?  " 

"Gineral  Jackson,  and  Pocahontas!  Samm3\  Do  3'ou 
mean  to  cast  reflections  upon  your  old  uncle's  bravery.  Ef 
you  insinerate  such  a  thing,  I'll  knock  you  off  your  pins  in  a 
minute."  And  the  tobacco-juice  streamed  down  the  corners 
of  the  old  man's  mouth  in  rivers. 

Sammy  was  grieved.  "  I  did  not  mean  to  'sinerate  on  you, 
uncle.     You  only  misunderstood  me.     I  knows  you  is  as  brave 


TOM  BUB  TON,  169 

as  a  lion.  I  only  meant  to  ask  ef  you  thought  them  Yankees 
was  gwine  to  squelch  us  people  here  on  the  Ireland. 

"That's  jest  what  I  was  a  sayin'  a  moment  ago,"  replied 
the  old  man,  very  much  mollified  by  the  humble  manner  of 
his  relative.  "But  as  fer  fear,  Sammy,  that  remotion  never 
entered  this  breast,"  and  the  chest  of  the  old  sailor  sounded 
hollow  with  the  self-inflicted  blow. 

A  vidette  rode  up. 

"  Well ;  how  is  times  at  t'other  end,  horseman  ?  " 

"  We're  going  to  stand  our  ground,  old  man.  How  many 
do  you  make  out  in  yon  fleet  ?  " 

"  Do  yer  mean  men  or  wessels,  sir  ?  " 

"  Vessels,  of  course.  I  didn't  suppose  you  could  count  the 
men." 

"  Thar  are  nigh  onto  a  hundred,  sir.  How  many  men  hev 
we  on  the  Ireland  ?  " 

"About  fifteen  hundred,  more  or  less.  We  are  expecting 
reinforcements  from  Nag's  Head ;  but  we  can  lick  them  fel- 
lows coming  yonder  with  what  we  have  here  now.  One  good 
Southerner  is  good  for  at  least  five  Yankees." 

"  Thar  are  at  least  ten  thousand  men  in  that  ar  fleet,  sir." 

"  Well,  my  good  fellow,  that's  only  a  little  over  six  to  one. 
That's  nothing.  We  have  ten  big  guns  at  Fort  Bartow,  and 
as  many  as  fourteen  at  the  other  batteries ;  so  let  'em 
come,  we  are  ready  for  them." 

"Yes,  and  you  may  bet  your  sweet  life  they  are  a  comin', 
sergeant ;  so  you  kin  get  to  rights  jest  as  early  as  you  kin, 
with  your  six  men." 

"Then  I'll  bid  you  good-morning,  old  gentleman,  and  ride 
back  as  fast  as  possible,  and  report  to  Captain  Wise.  He  is 
in  charge  of  the  outposts.  We  shall  have  something  to  do 
before  we  meet  again,  I  guess." 

"And  I  don't  guess  anything  about  it,  sergeant,  I  knows 
it ;  and  if  I  hain't  a  right  smart  mistaken,  you'll  hev  a  pretty 
tough  wrastle  with  your  six  men  'ginst  that  fleet.  A  man 
what  has  traveled,  Sammy,  knows  more  'en  one  what  hasn't," 
and  the  old  man  shook  the  wet  from  his  tarpaulin  hat  and 
took  another  look  at  the  advancing  squadrons. 

Ere  he  had  taken  his  eyes  from  that  direction,  there  curled 
out,  from  the  bow  of  the  gunboat  in  the  centre  of  the  line,  a 
volume  of  gray  smoke,  from  the  midst  of  which,  like  the  fiery 
tongue  of  a  serpent,  there  leaped  forth  a  quick,  sharp  flash, 
and  almost  instantly,  as  if  tearing  the  damp  morning  air  into 
shreds,  a  shell  went  shrieking  and  plunging  over  the  heads 
of  the  old  man  and  the  boy,  bursting  in  the  midst  of  the  isl- 


170  TOM  BURTON. 

and  with  an  explosion  that  \vaked  the  brakes  and  bogs  from 
their  quiet  repose,  sent  the  cranes  cranking  from  their 
roosts,  and  frightening  the  wild-fowl  in  the  sound;  its  echo 
careering  and  reverberating  from  shore  to  shore,  until  it 
died  away  with  a  sort  of  guttural  warning,  far  up  the  distant 
Albemarle. 

Sammy  dropped  upon  the  ground  like  a  frightened  pullet 
at  the  shadow  of  a  passing  bird. 

"  I  tell  3'ou  what,  that's  a  right  smart  squealer,  Sammy,  and 
ef  that  ar  had  a  hit  we  uns,  it  would  a  sent  us  to  the  sweet  by- 
and-by,  my  boy,"  remarked  the  old  man,  dryly.  Then,  ob- 
serving the  boy  lying  on  the  ground,  pale  and  trembling,  he 
resumed : 

"  I  pities  you,  my  boy,  most  'cause  you  would  not  hev  been 
here,  but  fer  me.  May  God  forgive  me  ef  we  uns  gits  hurt 
this  day,"  then  pausing  a  moment,  he  went  on  talking. 
"  But  it's  no  use  a  mindin'  it.  We  uns  is  in  it,  and  must 
take  the  conserquences.  So,  let's  git  we  uns'  breakfast  afore 
them  fellers  comes  too  nigh  to  make  cookin'  and  eatin'  com- 
fortable. Them  taters  you  put  into  the  fire  last  night  ought 
to  be  done  by  this  time."  Saying  which,  the  two  huddled 
round  the  remains  of  their  smoldering  camp-fire,  now  nearly 
extinguished  by  the  steadily  falling  rain,  and  scratching 
among  the  coals,  raked  out  several  j^ams,  of  which  the  old 
man  partook  heartily,  but  Sammy  refused  to  touch  a  mouth- 
ful. 

"  My  stomach  is  rather  weak  this  mornin',  uncle." 

"I'm  werry  sorry,  my  son,  but  you  had  a  better  stuff  your- 
self with  these  here  taters.  You'll  be  hungry  afore  you  gits 
a  chance  at  em  agin." 

Meanwhile,  the  fleet  was  looming  up  in  regular  order  with 
the  intention  of  engaging  the  rebel  fleet,  and  by  the  time 
Captain  Evans  had  finished  his  breakfast,  the  naval  action 
had  begun,  and  the  smoke  of  battle  was  hanging  dismally  o'er 
sound  and  shore. 

The  little  fleet  of  Confederate  gun-boats,  seven  in  number, 
gradually  fell  back  before  the  heavier  metal  and  superior  force 
of  the  attacking  party  as  the  Federal  line  advanced  until  their 
gun-boats  had  come  within  range  of  the  guns  of  Fort  Bartow, 
when  that  stronghold  added  its  thurider  to  the  already  deaf- 
ening roar  of  artillery. 

From  that  time  forth  the  fight  became  general,  the  Fed- 
erals dividing  their  attention  between  the  fleet  of  the  enemy 
and  their  batteries  on  shore,  and  the  Confederates  pouring 
in  their  usually  effective  fire  from  shore  and  sound. 


ToM  ntTRTON,  ±ti 

Captain  Evans  and  Sammy  remaining  at  the  south  end  of 
the  island,  stood  out  of  danger,  eager  spectators  of  the  stir- 
ring scene. 

"  The  time  will  come  for  we  uns  ter  take  a  hand  when 
them  fellows  makes  up  ther  minds  ter  land.  We'll  kinder 
loiter  about  here  whilst  they  trow  their  bombs  and  things 
around  loose.  I  tell  you  what,  Sammy,  it  are  a  magnifer- 
cent  sight  to  behold." 

From  early  in  the  morning  until  late  into  the  night  the 
bombardment  went  on  ;  but  as  the  day  closed  it  was  quite 
evident  that  the  advantage  gained  was  on  the  side  of  the 
Federals.  The  latter  had  suffered  some,  but  the  little  navy  of 
the  Confederates  was  badly  shattered.  One  of  their  gun- 
boats was  sunk  and  several  others  disabled,  so  that  when  the 
darkness  set  in  the  remaining  vessels  w^ithdrew  and  steamed 
away  up  the  Albemarle  Sound  to  Pasquotank  river,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  Elizabeth  City. 

Already  the  ammunition  at  Fort  Bartow  was  exhausted, 
and  the  Federals  had  only  to  turn  their  attention  to  the  land 
forces  with  the  coming  of  another  da}^ 

To  our  two  friends  thus  far,  the  fighting  had  only  been  an 
interesting  spectacle.  A  few  random  shots  had  been  thrown 
over  their  heads  into  the  thick  swamp  beyond.  Other  than 
this  they  had  occupied  a  place  of  almost  entire  safety.  But 
they  had  seen  enough  to  try  the  courage  of  the  stoutest 
heart. 

Their  ears  had  become  somewhat  familiarized  with  the 
tumult  of  battle.  They  had  all  day  long  traced  the  fiery  trail 
of  reeking  shell,  their  flying  fragments  attended  by  terrific 
explosions,  as  they  tore  into  the  sides  of  the  reeling  gun- 
boats, they  had  seen  the  falling  spars,  and  the  red  fire-fiend 
climbing  up  the  rigging  of  tlie  vessels  ;  the  struggling  sea- 
men clinging  to  the  floating  debris,  and  been  thrilled  by  the 
defiant  shouts  of  the  enraged  combatants,  and  the  outcry  of 
the  wounded  ;  but  all  this  had  little  in  it  to  brace  them  up 
for  the  hand-to-hand  conflict  which  must  inevitably  take  place 
on  the  next  day. 

Sad  and  silent  they  sat  that  night  by  their  disguised  camp- 
fire,  which  they  had  builded  further  back  in  the  woods.  They 
ate  little  and  conversed  less  ;  the  old  man  sitting  with  his 
broad  jaws  clinched  like  a  vise  upon  his  quid,  and  the  boy  in 
hopeless  expectation,  finding  no  consolation  in  the  stern  and 
altered  mood  of  his  uncle,  with  his  wet  blanket  about  his 
shoulders,  shivering  by  his  side. 

As  the  night  wore  away,  the  latter,  yielding  to  the  depress 


172  f0MBURT02^. 

sion  of  mind  under  whlcli  he  was  laboring,  lay  down  and 
slept  in  his  wet  clothing  ;  but  Captain  Evans  still  sat  there, 
sometimes  silent  and  at  other    times    murmuring  to  himself. 

"  This  is  werry  misfortionable.  I  wouldn't  care  a  picayune 
fur  this  ole  superannuated  carcass  ef  it  warn't  fer  the  boy. 
He's  too  young  and  tender  fer  this  business,  and  to-morrow — " 
Then  the  old  fellow  would  shake  his  head  and  cover  his  face 
with  his  broad  and  rugged  hands.  Then,  as  if  awakened 
from  a  dream,  he  would  suddenly  exclaim  : 

"  I'll  eat  my  head  ef  I  don't  believe  his  angel  mother  are  a 
hoverin'  round  us  this  werry  minute.  I  wonder  ef  she  will 
ever  see  her  boy  agin  ?  " 

A  while  after  midnight  he  waked  the  boy  and  started  up 
the  island.  AVhen  near  the  centre  he  found  that  all  was 
business  and  excitement  there.  The  forces  of  the  batteries 
had  combined,  and  behind  a  broad  morass,  which  lay  at 
the  distance  of  a  few  rods  in  the  rear  of  Fort  Bartow,  they 
had  thrown  up  a  masked  redoubt,  in  the  midst  of  a  thick 
growth  of  scrub  cedars  and  cypress,  flanked  on  either  wing 
by  the  soft,  oozy  swamp  of  the  glade.  Here  they  intended  to 
make  a  last  and  final  stand,  and  by  throwing  out  pickets  in 
front,  lead  the  enemy  into  the  morass  and  within  the  reach 
of  their  ambuscade. 

All  night  long  of  the  Tth,  they  worked  like  beavers,  ar- 
ranging and  completing  their  works  and  forming  their  pick- 
et line. 

When  Captain  Evans  and  the  boy  reached  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  redoubt  at  about  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  they 
were  met  by  Captain  Wise  and  appointed  to  duty  on  the  ex- 
treme left,  as  pickets  in  the  swamp,  with  orders  to  fire  and 
retreat.  Their  respective  positions  were  within  calling  dis- 
tance of  each  other.  As  they  filed  off  to  their  places  in  the 
darkness,  the  old  man  cast  a  wistful  gaze  after  the  boy,  and 
turning  his  back  to  hide  his  emotion,  said,  "  Ef  times  get  too 
hot  fer  you,  my  boy,  hover  in  towards  me,  and  don't  git  out- 
ten  the  way,  and  don't  forgit  the  cunner.  She  lies  in  the  gut 
over  thar.     Don't  forgit  the  cunner." 

The  sun  had  scarcely  cleared  the  beach,  before  the  expedi- 
tion under  cover  of  the  gun-boats  began  to  land,  first  assault- 
ing the  deserted  fort  and  then  advancing  into  the  morass. 

Beckoning  well  upon  the  character  of  the  ground,  each 
soldier  had  been  furnished  with  a  piece  of  board  which,  serv- 
ing as  a  portable  pontoon,  enabled  them  to  advance  with 
facility  toward  the  position  occupied  by  the  Confederates. 
A  brisk  picket   fire  began  j    and  as  the  Federals   advanced 


TOM  BUUTON.  I73 

they  flanked  the  old  man  and  the  boy,  cutting  them  off  from 
their  friends,  and  coming  in  between  them  and  tlie  redoubt. 
In  attempting  to  close  up  toward  the  right  they  came  in 
contact  with  the  right  wing  of  the  Federal  line,  as  the 
straggling  soldiers  with  their  planks  were  struggling  through 
the  swamp. 

^  Sammy  being  on  the  right  of  his  uncle  was  the  first  to 
discover  their  position,  and  picking  out  his  man,  opened  fire. 
His  aim  was  accurate,  and  the  Yankee  reeled  over  into  the 
mud  with  a  splash. 

The  report,  which  called  Captain  Evans  to  the  side  of  his 
nephew,  brought  also  half  a  dozen  Federals  to  the  spot,  and 
the  contest  was  to  be  decided  between  two  on  one  side  and 
six  on  the  other. 

"  YouVe  waked  up  the  hornets,  Sammy,  and  we  must 
look  out  fer  'em,  my  boy.     They  is  a  swarmin'  fer  us." 

This  was  all  the  old  man  had  time  to  say.  But  there  was 
no  need  of  encouraging  words.  The  youth  seemed  suddenly 
to  have  developed  into  the  full  stature  of  a  veteran.  Even  be- 
fore his  less  active  companion  could  get  ready  for  action,  by 
securing  a  position  to  get  in  an  effective  shot,  Sammy,  with 
his  repeating  rifle  had  stretched  out  three  of  his  assailants, 
badly  wounded  or  dead.  By  this  time  others  of  the  attack- 
ing party  hearing  the  firing,  began  to  swarm  in  that  direc- 
tion, and  the  position  of  our  two  friends  became  extremely 
perilous. 

"^  Hadn't  we  uns  better  drap  back  ?  "  hinted  the  old  man, 
excitedly. 

But  Sammy  seemed  deaf.  The  old  man's  suggestion  was 
not  heard  or  fell  unheeded  upon  his  ear.  As  fast  as  a  man 
approached  he  was  sure  to  be  shot  down.  But  still  they  came. 
The  balls  whistled  by  the  heads  of  the  two  beleagured  pick- 
ets as  thick  as  hail,  chipping  off  the  twigs,  and  spattering 
their  faces  with  the  soft  mud  of  the  morass,  as  they  fell  at 
their  feet,  from  the  random  firing  of  the  advancing  column. 

The  old  man  was  not  long  idle.  Fixing  himself  behind  a 
large  cypress,  and  urging  Sammy  to  take  the  same  precau- 
tion, he  loaded  and  tired  with  almost  as  much  celerity  and 
execution  as  his  nephew.  The  first  six  men  w^ere  all  disposed 
of/  but  six,  ay,  twice  six  had  come  to  their  rescue,  only  to 
meet  a  like  fate,  when,  exasperated  to  frenzy,  the  reinforced 
enemy  made  up  their  minds  that  the  only  way  to  dislodge 
their  two  foes,  was  to  order  a  charge  and  route  them  at  the 
point  of  the  bayonet. 

Six  soldiers  leaped  to  the  unequal  contest. 


174  TOM  BURTOX. 

The  old  man  fired  two  shots  and  as  many  men  fell  to  the 
ground.     Sammy's  piece  missed  fire. 

The  remaining  four  rushed  on  over  the  quaggy  ground, 
leaping  from  tussock  to  tussock,  fearless  and  desperate.  And 
now  a  crisis,  such  as  the  old  man  and  the  lad  had  never  before 
encountered,  was  at  hand. 

"  This  is  a  rather  misfortionable  predickament,  Sammy. 
Hadn't  we  better  surrender  ?  '^ 

"  Stand  your  ground,  uncle,"  was  all  the  boy  said,  as  he 
readjusted  his  rifle,  and  beginning  afresh,  brought  one  of 
the  charging  party  to  his  knees. 

Nothing  daunted,  the  remaining  three  dashed  on,  and  in 
a  moment  were  lunging  at  Sammy,  whose  barricade  was 
standing  a  little  in  advance  of  that  of  his  uncle. 

In  attempting  to  shun  the  thrust  of  one,  the  poor  boy  en- 
countered the  bayonet  of  the  other  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
tree.  It  struck  him  in  the  right  side,  piercing  him  between 
the  ribs.  As  he  sank  to  the  ground,  he  turned  a  piteous,  im- 
ploring look  at  the  old  man. 

With  a  cry  and  a  leap  like  that  of  a  wild  beast,  the  old 
fellow  sprang  forward,  and  turning  the  butt  end  of  his  rifle, 
struck  down  two  of  the  men,  one  after  the  other,  and  snatch- 
ing the  musket  from  the  side  of  the  prostrate  lad,  drove  it 
with  a  lunge  into  the  last  of  the  three  men,  who  was  stuck  in 
the  mud,  and  raising  the  wounded  boy  in  his  brawny  arms, 
ran  with  him  with  all  his  might  to  the  right  and  rear. 

Fifty  bullets  sped  after  him,  but  he  seemed  to  bear  a 
charmed  life.  Leaping  from  hammock  to  hammock,  and 
knowing  his  ground  perfectly,  it  was  no  trouble  for  him  to 
distance  his  pursuers.  In  fact  they  had  no  desire  to  rush 
after  him,  as  they  knew  not  what  dangers  lay  in  front,  or 
how  many  such  men  and  boys  as  they  had  already  en- 
countered were  peopling  the  w^oods  beyond.  The  warm  blood 
of  the  youth   trickled  down   over  the  hand  of  the  old  man. 

"  My  God  !  he  is  bleeding  to  death  !  This  is  misfortionable, 
but  it  will  never  do."  Seeing  that  he  was  out  of  immediate 
danger,  he  laid  down  his  pale  burden,  and  tearing  his  own 
shirt  into  bands,  bound  up  the  ugly  wound  as  well  as  he  could, 
and  re-shouldering  him,  went  on.  It  seemed  to  Captain  Evans 
that  all  the  energies  of  his  whole  lifetime  had  come  back  to 
him  to  serve  him  in  this  trying  emergency. 

Behind  him  the  battle  was  now  raging  with  demoniacal 
fury.  He  heard,  but  heeded  not,  the  shouts  of  the  assailants. 
The  moaning  of  the  wounded  boy  goaded  him  on.  "  And 
jist  to  think  it  war  all  my  own  fault/"  he  would  ejaculate  as 
he  ran. 


TOM  BURTON.  175 

He  readied  the  canoe,  panting  like  an  ox  in  summer  time, 
and  drenched  with  perspiration,  mire  and  blood.  Down  in 
the  bottom,  on  some  leaves  and  dried  grass,  he  laid  the  boy, 
and  putting  his  shoulder  to  the  end  of  the  boat,  slid  her  down 
into  the  gut,  and  jumping  in,  seized  an  oar  and  shoved  for 
the  strait.  By  this  time  tlie  firing  at  the  redoubt  liad  ceased, 
only  the  desultory  report  of  a  rifle  now  and  then  could  be 
heard,  but  flying  wildly  in  every  direction  ran  the  routed 
rebels. 

Standing  up  on  the  stern  seat,  so  as  to  make  good  use  of 
the  strong  south  wind  which  was  blowing,  he  sailed  up  the 
Currituck.  When  he  had  phaced  a  sufiicient  distance  be- 
tween himself  and  the  island,  he  turned  round  to  take  one 
more  last  look  at  the  ill-fated  place.  Shaking  his  clenched 
fist  in  that  direction,  he  exclaimed:  ^Tight  on,  now,  yer 
miserable  brutes.  Never  will  Revel  Evans  or  any  of  his 
kith  and  kin  raise  another  arm  in  sich  a  slauterin'  business." 
Then  going  to  the  boy,  who  seemed  to  be  asleep,  he  knelt 
down  by  him  and  kissed  him  over  and  over  again,  weeping 
as  he  did  so.  "  Like  onto  a  drum  with  his  throat  cut,  lyin' 
in  the  bottom  of  the  cunner.  Oh,  this  is  werry  misfortion- 
able.     My  poor  boy  !  my  poor  boy  ! 


CHAPTER  XXin. 

THE    RETREAT. 

Wholly  indifferent  as  to  the  result  of  the  battle,  and  think- 
ing only  of  the  bleeding  boy  who  had  fought  so  bravely. 
Captain  Evans  sped  on  his  northward  course  up  the  Curri- 
tuck. 

Had  the  boy  not  been  hurt,  it  was  his  intention  to  land  on 
the  beach  and  walk  up,  crossing  Princess  Ann  County  to  ^ 
Norfolk.  As  it  was,  he  thouglit  he  would  reach  the  canal  if 
possible,  and  following  that,  go  on  by  water  to  the  place  of 
destination,  if  his  wounded  boy  could  hold  out  so  long.  Day 
was  yet  young ;  and  although  the  distance  to  the  farther  end 
of  the  sound  was  long,  yet  the  old  sailor  hoped  to  reach  land 
by  night. 

With  an  extra  oar  and  his  overcoat,  he  improvised  a  mast 
and  sail,  and  standing  himself  in  the  stern,  the  narrow  craft 
shot  through  the  water  like  an  arrow.  He  had  lost  his  hat 
in  the  battle,  and  his  bald  head  and  gray  locks  were  exposed 


176  TOM  BURTON. 

to  the  scuds  of  rain  which  the  south-west  wind  was  constantly 
sending  up  behind.  But  little  cared  he  for  this.  Sorrow 
and  remorse  filled  his  heart  with  a  terrible  anguish.  "  All 
my  own  fault ;  all  my  own  fault,"  he  continually  muttered. 
"I  swear,  here  in  the  j^resence  of  that  poor  boy  and  God  Al- 
mighty, that  while  I  live  I  will  never  touch  another  drop  of 
liquor.  And  jist  to  remagine  that  that  precious  blood  has 
got  to  be  spilt  fer  niggers  !  Ef  Jeff  Davis  war  only  here,  or 
any  other  instigator  ev  this  infernal  war,  I'd  settle  his  hash 
fer  him  in  less  nor  a  minnit.  Ef  I  only  had  my  boy  back 
safe  and  well  as  he  was  two  hours  ago,  their  old  Southern 
Confederacy  might  go  to  blazes  for  what  I  care." 

Sammy  groaned  and  opened  his  ej^es.  His  tongue  was 
cleaving  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth.     He  could  only  articulate  : 

"  Water,  uncle,  water." 

^^  That  3^ou  shall,  my  baby,"  tenderly  responded  the  old 
man,  dropping  his  oar,  and  striding  to  the  bow  of  the  canoe 
he  drew  out  from  under  the  forward  seat  a  jug  of  water,  a 
bottle  of  whisky,  and  some  roasted  potatoes. 

"  This  are  not  werry  fresh,  my  boy,  but  it  is  the  best  I 
have.  Bending  down  on  his  knees,  he  raised  Sammy,  resting 
his  head  on  his  arm,  proffering  at  the  same  time  a  gourd  full 
of  the  stale  fluid  which  had  been  a  week  ago  tolerable  water. 

The  boy  clutched  the  gourd  nervously,  and  emptied  it 
without  taking  it  from  his  head. 

"Will  you  have  some  of  the  whisky,  my  boy  ;  not  that  I 
want  ter  tempt  yer  to  drink,  but  only  by  the  way  of  medi- 
cine." 

But  Sammy  shook  his  head  with  a  faint  smile  and  whis- 
pered, "  Mother,"  as  a  tear  glistened  in  his  eye. 

"  God  forgive  me,"  groaned  his  uncle,  throwing  the  bottle 
into  the  sound. 

Then,  brushing  the  tear  away,  the  boy  continued  ; 

"  But  I  shall  never  see  her  again,"  and  saying  this,  the 
wounded  lad  sank  into  a  stupor  from  which  the  old  man's 
groaning  aroused  him  after  several  minutes.  Opening  his 
eyes  he  asked  : 

"  Where  are  we,  uncle  ?  Are  the  Yankees  arter  us,  and  is 
you  hit  too  ?  " 

"No,  my  baby.     I  wish  I  war." 

"Then  why  do  you  cry,  uncle." 

"  To  see  you  hurt,  and  to  think  I  war  the  cause  ev  it  all." 

"  But,  uncle,  please  don't  think  ev  that  any  more.  You  is 
a  good,  kind  uncle  to  me,  and  alius  treated  me  good.     Don't 


TOM  BUETON.  177 

cry  uncle,  I'm  not  sufferin'   much.     We  uns  has  had  many  a 
grand  time  together." 

The  old  man  cried  more  and  more. 

"  Lay  me  down  easy,  uncle ;  my  right  side  is  stiff  and 
sore." 

"  I  know  it  am,  honey.     Let  me  fix  it  up  fer  you  better." 

So  saying,  he  threw  oft  his  coat  and  vest,  and  cutting  out  the 
lining  of  the  latter  with  his  pocket-knife,  made  a  soft  pad  of 
it,  and  cutting  away  the  boy's  clothing,  washed  the  clotted 
blood  off  the  wound — an  awful  gash — from  which  the  red 
life  stream  was  still  oozing.  He  dipped  the  pad  in  the  water 
and  bound  it  over  the  wound,  closing  it  as  best  he  could, 
tying  the  bandage  tight. 

Then  making  a  place  for  him  nearer  the  bow  of  the  boat, 
he  took  him  up  tenderly  in  his  arms,  and  removed  him 
where  the  sun,  should  he  shine  out,  would  not  fall  on  his  face. 

The  old  man's  little  nursing  was  duly  appreciated  by 
nature,  w^hich  responded  to  his  efforts  by  sending  the  sufferer 
to  dream-land  almost  immediately.  The  canoe  needed  the 
trailing  oar,  and  Captain  Evans  was  soon  at  his  post  again. 
The  wind  was  yet  fresh,  and  the  boat  fairly  flew  on  her  way  ; 
but  not  rapidly  enough  for  her  distressed  captain.  In  the 
examination  of  the  wound,  he  had  sagacity  sufficient  to  per- 
ceive that  it  was  a  ghastly  one,  and  needed  the  best  medical 
attention  and  careful  nursing  or  the  boy  would  perish.  He 
was  calculating  the  time  it  would  take  him  to  reach  the 
shore,  where  he  might  obtain  temporary  assistance,  which 
he  was  making  up  his  mind  would  be  early  in  the  evening, 
when  suddenly  the  wind  and  rain  both  ceased,  the  clouds 
passed  seaward,  and  the  sun  burst  forth  in  meridian  splen- 
dor. 

Never  was  fair  weather  more  unwelcome. 

"  This  is  worry  misfortionable,"  groaned  the  old  man  as 
he  sat  down  on  the  seat  and  rubbed  his  head  with  his  rough 
palm.  It  grew  hot.  The  water  in  the  jug  became  tepid  in 
temperature.  The  boy  awoke  fairly  choking  with  thirst. 
The  old  man  arose  and  redoubled  his  efforts,  trying  to  make  up 
for  wind  in  the  vigorous  strokes  of  the  oar  which  he  put  over 
the  stern-post  of  the  boat,  and  propelled  her  onward  as  only 
a  Chesapeaker  can.  He  had  yet  a  long  way  to  go.  Far  off 
in  the  distance  ahead,  the  shadowy  outlines  of  the  cypress 
trees  at  the  head  of  the  sound  appeared  to  stand  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  now  gloomy  water.  Still  the  old  man  sculled 
away,  rocking  the  dugout  like  a  cradle,  as  he  swayed  his 
brawny  bod^  to  and  fro,  the  bead-like  drops  of  perspiration 


178  TOM  BURTON, 

rolling  from  his  head  and  face  like  water.  Keither  the  boom- 
ing of  guns,  now  far  behind,  nor  the  heartless  sight  of  miles 
of  water  between  him  and  the  shore,  caused  him  for  a  moment 
to  relax  his  energies. 

The  sun  blazed  hotter,  and  the  air  became  more  stifling; 
but  steadily  onward  he  toiled,  his  swaying  body  vibrating 
with  the  regularity  of  a  pendulum. 

The  boy  became  restless.  He  began  to  grow  delirious. 
His  wild  and  incoherent  mutterings  only  nerved  the  bare 
and  hairy  arms  which  held  the  pliant  oar,  with  new  power  as 
they  fell  on  the  old  man's  ear  with  excruciating  painful- 
ness. 

Hours  passed  by ;  still  the  swish,  swish,  swish,  swish  of 
the  sculling  went  on.  The  sun  began  to  decline,  and  was 
finallv  obscured  by  a  dark  blueish  cloud  which  hung  over  the 
placid  sound  in  the  far-away  west.  A  storm  was  brewing, 
and  the  low  growling  of  distant  thunder  was  heard  ;  but  it 
broke  not  the  spell  of  the  old  man's  exertions. 

All  this  time  the  boy  was  getting  worse.  The  quieting 
effects  of  the  shock  were  giving  way  to  the  first  onslaught 
of  fever. 

Daylight  shut  in  prematurelj'.  Eastward,  over  the  beach, 
the  sky  was  serene  ;  but  in  the  opposite  direction,  a  cloud, 
such  as  rises  hastily  in  this  latitude  after  the  heat  of  a  sultry 
day  in  springtime,  was  rapidly  rising.  They  were  too  far 
from  shore  to  reach  it  in  time  to  avert  the  storm.  A  louder 
peal  of  thunder  rolled  over  the  lonely  voyagers,  dj'ing  away 
in  the  purple  east.  It  roused  the  boy  from  his  feverish 
dream,  to  a  recumbent  position.  He  gazed  wildly  around, 
then  tried  to  stagger  to  his  feet. 

"They  are  comin',  uncle.  Don't  you  hear  the  guns  ?"  A 
hectic  flush  was  burning  on  his  cheek,  and  his  eyes  had  an 
anxious,  eager  look  in  them. 

"  Get  behind  me,  uncle,  quick.  The}'-  will  kill  you  !  they 
will  kill  you  ! "  he  screamed,  with  all  his  might.  Then, 
unable  to  rise,  he  fell  back,  crying: 

"  Oh,  my  i^oor  mother,  I  shall  never  see  her  again.  Take 
me  to  the  Sisters,  uncle ;  I  would  see  the  little  un  ag'in 
afore  I  die." 

The  old  man  could  stand  this  no  longer.  He  thought  the 
boy  was  dying,  and  running  to  him,  he  caught  him  in  his 
arms,  and  j^ressed  his  hot  head  to  his  breast.  A  bright 
flash  of  lightning  revealed  the  pinched  features  of  the  lad, 
as  he  gazed  up  into  his  uncle's  face,  in  a  §ort  of  daze4 
manner. 


TOM  BUBTON,  179 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  my  boy,  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

"Nothing,  uncle  ;  leave  me,  and  save  yourself.  They  are 
coming,  uncle,  they  are  coming." 

The  storm  was,  if  the  Yankees  were  not,  and  it  struck  the 
boat  with  the  force  of  a  tornado,  almost  engulfing  the  frail 
bark  and  its  luckless  crew  in  a  flood  of  spray.  The  rain 
poured  down  in  torrents.  The  brackish  waves  broke  over 
the  canoe  from  stem  to  stern.  The  roaring  wind  put  to 
silence  the  voice  of  the  thunder.  To  save  the  boat  and  at- 
tempt to  take  care  of  the  boy,  was  too  much  for  one  person. 
Fertile  in  resources  in  times  of  danger  like  this,  the  old  man 
determined  to  do  what  made  his  very  heart  bleed  while  he 
did  it. 

Seizing  the  painter,  he  unraveled  the  twists  of  the  rope, 
and  bound  the  lad  hand  and  foot ;  then  covering  him  as  best 
he  could  with  the  overcoat,  went  back  to  his  post. 

Fortunately,  the  wind  blew  squarely  from  behind,  but 
with  the  force  of  a  hurricane.  The  lightning  flashed  ;  the 
tempest  howled;  but  through  the  gloom  the  little  boat, 
guided  by  the  master-hand  of  her  commander,  drove  north- 
ward before  the  gale,  curling  the  white  foam  from  her  sharp 
bow,  and  careering  on  the  crest  of  the  newly  awakened  waves, 
like  a  thing  of  life.  All  around  was  impenetrable  darkness, 
save  w^here  the  red  lightning  flashing  seemed  to  set  the 
sound  on  fire.  The  boy  groaned,  and  muttered,  and  shrieked 
in  his  delirium.  The  crimsoned  water  in  the  boat  slashed 
from  side  to  side,  and  soaked  his  prostrate  body  through  and 
through. 

Sweet  blessing  in  disguise !  The  rain  had  helped  the 
boy,  and  restored  the  old  man  to  his  equilibrium.  It  tarried 
not  long,  but  soon  spent  its  fury,  passing  over  toward  the 
beach,  and  losing  itself  in  the  ocean.  The  moon  rose  cheery 
from  behind  its  retreating  outlines  ;  the  stars  came  out ;  the 
water  no  longer  lashed  the  sides  of  the  canoe,  w^hich,  toward 
morning,  quietly  glided  into  a  placid  nook,  under  and  among 
the  tall  cypresses,  as  the  gray  strata  of  coming  dawn  gleamed 
through  t^he  forest  vista,  and  the  old  man  sank  down  in  the 
stern  of  the  boat.  "When  the  sun  arose,  it  found  them  both 
sleeping. 


180  TOM  BURTON, 


PART   V. 

CHAPTER  XXiy. 

AN  IMPORTANT  SECRET  OUT. 

The  Federal  fleet  sailed  up  the  Albemarle  Sound,  after  re- 
ducing Roanoke  Island,  whence  the  Confederate  gun-boats 
had  repaired  the  night  before,  sunk  them  in  the  Pasquotank, 
and  captured  Elizabeth  City.  Erom  this  point  their  land 
forces  began  to  march  upon  Norfolk.  Henceforth  the  city- 
by-the-sea  was  doomed. 

The  battle  of  Roanoke  Island  took  place  on  the  8th  of 
Eebruary.  By  that  time  another  plan  was  being  devised  to 
attack  the  aforesaid  city  by  land  and  water  from  Eortresa 
Monroe.  There  was  but  one  source  of  hope  for  the  twin 
cities,  and  but  one  great  difficulty  to  be  overcome  by  the 
Federals,  and  that  was  the  "  Merrimack."  All  possible  dis- 
patch was  now  being  made  to  finish  this  wonderful  vessel, 
which  was  to  be  at  once  a  boon  and  a  terror.  Alas,  for 
Norfolk  !  The  sound  of  revelry  had  ceased  within  her  borders. 
The  days  of  her  glory  were  departing,  and  nothing  but  eager 
preparation,  and  a  fearful  looking  for  of  impending  evil  was 
apparent. 

Menaced  from  sea  and  land,  threatened  from  all  sides,  no 
one  could  predict  what  a  day  would  bring  forth.  Having  in 
view  the  temper  of  Claude  Walsingham,  when  he  left  the 
Eastern  Shore  only  a  few  months  previously,  one  would  natu- 
rally expect  to  find  him  all  alert  for  the  coming  struggle,  active 
in  preparations  for  defence,  eager  for  the  fray.  Surely  there 
was  enough  to  engage  the  services  of  the  most  inert,  not  to 
mention  such  enthusiastic  partisans  as  he  appeared  to  be  at 
the  breaking  out  of  the  war. 

The  fact  is,  he  had  done  little  or  no  service  since  his  ar- 
rival in  Norfolk.  Once,  in  company  with  other  members  of 
the  staff,  he  had  visited  Sewall's  Point,  on  a  visit  of  inspec- 
tion, he  had  on  one  or  two  occasions  been  bearer  of  dispatches  to 
Crany  Island,  and  the  entrenched  camp.  All  the  rest  of  his 
time  he  had  given  to  Miss  Buttercup.  But,  strange  to  say, 
while  love  adds  vigor  to  any  good  cause,  and  women  glory  in 


TOM  BirUToy^.  181 

martial  achievements,  exciting  to  industry  in  times  of  j^eace 
and  valor  in  times  of  war,  stimulating  one's  estimate  of  virtue, 
and  strengthening  all  honorable  intentions,  that  liaison  of  his 
with  the  sorceress  of  Freemason  Street  had  only  the  effect  to 
emasculate,  enervate  and  debase,  and  that  which  ought  to 
sweeten  toil,  deepen  patriotism  and  beget  endurance  had  proved 
in  his  case  a  demoralizer  of  every  attribute  of  manhood,  crushed 
out  every  noble  impulse  and  made  of  a  once  chivalrous  young 
man,  a  regular  Sardanapalus. 

To  find  out  a  man's  character,  we  have  no  better  guide  than 
tlie  old  and  often  proved  method  of  investigating  the  qualities 
and  habits  of  those  with  whom  he  associates.  We  not  only 
take  physical  diseases  from  our  companions,  but  their  moral 
ailments  also;  for  moral  ideas  are  as  catching  as  the  itch,  and 
we  can  no  more  expose  ourselves  to  the  pernicious  atmos- 
phere which  surrounds  and  emanates  from  a  human  soul,  than 
share  the  same  bed  with  an  infected  human  being,  and  not 
become  contaminated. 

Was  Claude's  patriotism  growing  cold  ?  Yes.  So  was 
that  of  Miss  Buttercup.  She  was  intelligent — very,  and  saw 
farther  ahead  than  other  men  and  women,  no  doubt,  because 
she  was  more  selfish  and  mercenary.  Times  were  getting 
hard  in  Norfolk,  money  scarce,  or  if  plenty,  of  little  value. 
Claude's  exchequer  was  in  a  bankrupt  condition,  and  his  sal- 
ary hypothecated  for  several  months  in  advance.  His  liberal- 
ity had  caused  him  to  neglect  his  person,  and  his  clothing  was 
beginning  to  be  threadbare. 

If  Miss  Buttercup  was  fast,  she  was  not  a  fool.  The  signs 
of  the  times  were  not  propitious  for  those  who  believe  in  the 
doctrine  of  making  friends  of  the  mammon  of  ungodliness, 
that  when  others  fail  they  may  be  received  into  everlasting 
habitations.  She  thought,  in  the  sporting  language  of  her 
own  day,  with  which  she  was  well  acquainted,  it  began  to  be 
time  to  "  hedge."  AYith  Norfolk  full  of  handsome  Federal 
officers,  with  their  pockets  full  of  greenbacks,  and  she  in  bad 
odor  with  them  on  account  of  political  affiliations  with  the 
Confederacy,  would  never  do. 

Claude  was  pretty  well  used  up,  so  also  to  her  astute  mind 
was  the  Confederacy.  It  was  as  easy  forlier  to  part  with  one 
as  the  other.  She  was,  in  truth,  so  far  a  Christian,  that  she 
was  ready  to  be  every  thing  to  any  body,  so  she  might  save 
herself.  If  she  had  been  queen  during  the  days  of  rebellion, 
she  determined  to  be  empress  under  the  new  regime  when  it 
was  ushered  in. 

*^  Claude,"  she  said,  "  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor." 


182  TOM  BURTOn. 

"  Well,"  he  replied,  "  you  know,  Queenie,  you  have  only  to 
speak  and  I  am  at  your  service.     What  is  it  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  find  out  for  me  at  once  when  the  "  Virginia" 
(they  called  the  "Merrimac"  by  that  name),  will  be  launclied." 

"  By  my  soul,  Queenie,  you  have  a  large  curiosity.  What 
on  earth  do  you  wish  to  know  that  for  ?  " 

"Oh,  only  a  woman's  fancy." 

"  Suppose  when  I  make  inquiry  they  should  suspect  me  of 
having  sinister  motives,  Queenie  ?  It  might  get  me  into  a 
peck  of  trouble." 

"Is  it  possible  that  Captain  Claude  Walsingham,  the  high- 
toned  and  honorable  officer  from  the  Eastern  Shore,  has  so 
far  lost  caste,  as  to  be  even  suspicioned  of  having  treacherous 
motives  ?  It  is  thus  I  am  rewarded  for  all  the  sacrifice  I 
have  made  for  you,  that  you  can  refuse  a  request  so  simple. 
Upon  my  word,  Claude  Walsingham,  you  grow  shorter  every 
day,  in  more  senses  than  one." 

Claude  winced,  and  that  was  all.  Samson  was  shorn  of 
his  locks,  and  it  only  required  that  his  eyes  be  burned  out, 
and  he  was  ready  to  be  hitched  up  to  grind  corn  in  the  mill. 

"Now,  Queenie,"  he  retorted  in  a  leering,  swaggering 
manner,  "'please  let  up  a  little,  won't  3^ou  ?  Don't  you  think 
you  are  a  little  hard  on  a  fellow  ?  You  are  too  previous, 
ni}'-  dear.  I  did  not  refuse  you  ;  I  only  hinted  at  the  advisa- 
bility of  the  thing." 

"  For  you  to  question  the  propriety  of  granting  a  request 
of  mine  is  too  cruel  for  anything.  You  are  a  mean,  ungrate- 
ful wretch,  Claude  Walsingham,  and  I  wish  I  had  never  seen 
you.  I  might  have  had  plenty  of  rich  and  generous  friends. 
General  Vincent,  Major  Reet,  Major  Griswool,  and  lots  of 
others,  if  I  hadn't  thrown  myself  away  on  you.  Oh  you  hate- 
ful thing!"  and  she  turned  away  and  walked  to  the  window, 
weeping  hysterically. 

"Please,  Queenie,  do  not  take  on  so  about  nothing.  You 
don't  know  how  badly  it  hurts  me  to  see  you  act  in  this  man- 
ner. There,  now,  don't  j^ou  know  I  will  do  anything  for  you  ? 
Come,  don't  let  us  quarrel.  Get  your  wine  and  let  us  drink 
friends." 

She  pushed  him  from  her  indignantly. 

In  a  moment  the  blood  mounted  to  his  temples,  and  a 
flash  of  the  old  fire  shot  forth  from  his  swollen  eyes.  Miss 
Buttercup  saw  it  and  softened.  She  changed  her  tactics. 
Going  up  to  him,  she  put  her  plump,  round  arms  about  his 
neck  and  kissed  him  on  his  indignant  mouth. 

"  There,  now,  Claudie,  I  am  sorry.  I  did  not  mean  to  treat 
you  badly." 


TOM  BURTON.  183 

"  But  you  are  very  scornful." 

^^  Pardon  me,  Claudie,  it's  oi\\y  a  woman's  freak.  I  will 
not  do  so  again.  Come,  let  us  drink  friends.  But  you  will 
tell  me,  won't  you,  Claudie  ?  Here  is  some  very  old  peach 
brandy,  sent  me  by  a  friend  in  Princess  Ann.  He  writes  me 
it  is  fifty  years  old,  and  as  mellow  as  a  June  apple.  Don't  be 
afraid  of  it,  Claudie,  it  won't  hurt  you.  Take  a  good  drink 
and  then  go  over  to  the  navy  yard,  and  find  out  for  me 
when  the  "Virginia"  will  be  read}^,  won't  you,  Claudie  ?  Yes, 
I  know  you  will,  darling  ;  and  come  right  back  and  tell  me. 
There,  that'll  make  you  feel  better  ;  and  when  you  get  back — 
well — you  shall  have  another,  and  a — and  a  kiss,  dear 
Claudie." 

In  an  hour  Claude  was  back  again,  but  just  able  to  walk 
alone.  Miss  Buttercup  met  him  at  the  hall  door.  He  tried 
to  kiss  her,  but  she  put  him  off,  her  face  betraying  more  dis- 
gust than  she  would  have  allowed,  if  Claude  had  not  been  too 
drunk  to  perceive  it. 

"  Come  into  the  parlor,  ninny.  Well,  you've  got  back,  I 
see.     Did  you  find  out  anything  ?  " 

Claude  was  sulky. 

"  Are  you  deaf  ?     What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  You — hie — called — hie — me  a — hie — ninny," 

"  No,  you  misunderstood  me." 

"  What — hie — did  you  call — hie — me,  then  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,  Claude.  Now,  you  are  ready  to  quarrel 
again.     Come,  tell  me  what  you  know." 

"  You — hie — won't  let  me — hie — kiss  j^ou." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  will.  Here,  kiss  me  all  you  like  ;  only,  tell 
me  if  3''ou  found  out  anything,  and  don't  keep  me  in  suspense 
all  day." 

"  Fetch  me  another — hie — swallow — hie — of  that  old  peach 
— hie — Queenie — hie — and  I  will." 

"  Sure  ?  " 

"  Yes — hie — sure." 

"Now,  don't  take  so  much;  you  have  enough  already. 
Now,  Claudie,  you'll  go  to  sleep  presently  and  forget  it.  Why, 
look  at  you  !  you  are  nodding  already."  She  shook  him  by 
the  shoulders. 

"What — hie — do  you — hie — want,  Queenie  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me  when  the  "  Virginia "  will  be 
launched." 

"  Well — hie — Queenie, — hie — pour  me  out — hie — another 
glass  of  the  brandy." 

"Not  a  drop  more  until  you  tell  me  what  I  want." 


184  TOM  BURTON. 

^'Well — hie — Queenie, — what  do  you — hie — want  to 
know?" 

"  Fool,  dunce,  tell  me  when  the  "  Virginia  ''  will  be  launch- 
ed, or  I'll  smash  you.     Do  you  hear  ?  " 

Claude  leered  up  at  his  Queenie.  She  was  standing  in  a 
threatening  attitude,  a  position  known  to  the  colored  gentry 
as  "  squared  off."  He  measured  her  up  and  down ;  tried,  in 
his  dazed  condition,  to  read  her  intentions,  tried  to  reflect  as 
to  his  ability  to  defend  himself,  and,  coming  to  the  conclusion 
that  discretion  was  the  better  part  of  valor,  he  said : 

You're — hie — crazy  to — hie — get  mad  about— hie— nothing. 
I  meant — hie — to  tell  you — hie — all  the — hie — time.  She 
will — hie — she — will — hie — " 

"  Speak  it  out,  or  I'll " 

^^Yes,  I  will — hie — if  you  will — hie — give  me  time.  On 
—hie— the  8th— hie— of— hie— " 

^'  Of  ]\rarch  ?  " 

a  Yes." 

"  Now,  you  drunken  fool,  you  may  go  to  sleep,  and  never 
wake,  for  what  I  care." 

In  five  minutes  Claude  was  snoring  on  the  sofa,  and  Miss 
Buttercup  inditing  the  following  note  : 

To  Gexeral  Johx  E.  Wool, 

Commanding  Fortress  Monroe. 

Sir, 

I  beg  to  inform  j'ou  that  the  ironclad  "  Virginia " 
will  be  completed  and  launched  by  the  8th  prox.  If  Mr. 
Ericsson's  vessel  can  be  ready  by  that  time,  all  may  be  well ; 
if  n(jt,  look  out  for  trouble^  as  she  is  said  to  be  a  very  formid- 
able craft. 

The  Confederates  are  very  much  depressed  over  the  loss  of 
Eoanoake  Island  and  Elizabeth  City. 

The  same   colored  man  will  take  this  who  took  my  other 
note.     You  will  see  that  he  is  attended  to  and  sent  across  the 
James  at  Newport  News,  so  he  can  return  to  Norfolk. 
I  have  the  honor  to  be, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

Martha. 

Touching  a  silver  bell,  she  called  a  servant. 

"  Tell  Uncle  Jim  to  come  up." 

The  order  was  obeyed,  and  a  ragged-looking  negro,  dressed 
as  an  oysterman,  doffing  his  hat  and  bowing,  soon  made  his 
appearance  at  the  door. 


TOM  BURTON.  185 

"  Are  you  ready,  Jim  ? '' 

"  Yes,  marin." 

"  You  understand  where  you  are  to  go  ? '' 

*^  Your  sarvent,  marm," 

*^To  Fortress  Monroe.'^ 

"  Ef  I  live,  marm." 

"How  do  you  go  this  time  ?  " 

"  Down  de  river,  marm,  arter  night,  in  a  cunner.'' 

"That's  right.  Now,  take  this  letter  to  General  Wool,  all 
safe  and  sound,  and  you'll  he  well  fixed  when  you  get  your 
freedom,  which  won't  be  long.     Good-bye.'^ 

"  Your  sarvent,  marm." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  CASE  OF  KIDNAPPING. 

Whether  it  was  the  name  in  the  ring  or  no,  which  had  so 
affected  the  Little  Sister,  her  sympathetic  companion  did  not 
take  time  to  inquire,  but  laying  her  on  the  bed,  proceeded  to 
restore  her  to  consciousness,  which  did  not  require  much 
time  or  attention,  the  former  recovering  almost  instantly 
after  being  put  in  a  horizontal  position. 

Her  strange  behavior  was  charged  to  loss  of  animation, 
due  to  a  weak  state  of  nervous  prostration,  and  nothing 
further  was  thought  of  it  by  the  faithful  attendant. 

The  novice  proved  to  be  an  apt  scholar,  and  very  soon 
mastered  the  catechism,  and  learned  to  say  all  the  Hail  jMar3-s, 
count  the  beads,  and  go  through  the  many  forms  required  by 
the  church  of  her  adoption,  with  as  much  ease  and  grace  as 
if  she  had  been  brought  up  in  that  faith. 

Sister  Irene  was  instant  in  season  and  out  of  season,  a 
constant  companion,  and  a  most  agreeable  one.  Only  a  little 
older  than  the  other,  herself  educated  and  of  good  family, 
the  companionship  was  such  as  only  two  of  a  like  mind 
and  manners  were  mutually  capable  of  forming. 

Sister  Irene  had  so  lately  been  an  inhabitant  of  the  gay 
outside  world,  that  she  had  not  yet  worn  out  its  impressions 
or  been  able  entirely  to  forget  its  ways,  or  overcome  its  in- 
fluences. In  other  words,  the  issues  of  life  had  not  all  been 
turned  into  the  channel  of  religious  thought. 

Now  and  then  in  spite  of  herself,  would  burst  forth  an  un- 
controllable, natural  sentiment,  more  colored  and  forceable 
from  having  been  restrained.     These  little    ebullitions  were 


186  TO:S[  BITBTON. 

I 

diversions  for  the  younger  Sister,  and  brought  her  companion 
more  on  a  level  with  her,  making  her  appear  all  the  more 
natural  and  lovable. 

The  Little  Sister  employed  much  of  her  time  in  reading 
the  books  furnished  her  b}'-  the  good  priest  of  St.  Mary's, 
but  was  permitted  to  attend  the  sick  and  do  other  duties  in- 
cumbent upon  the  Sisters  of  the   institution. 

As  a  nurse,  it  was  soon  found  that  she  was  a  decided  suc- 
cess, and  a  great  favorite  witli  the  inmates.  AVherever  she 
went  it  was  as  if  a  bright  light  was  shed  abroad  by  her  sweet 
presence ;  for  she  carried  a  light,  but  affectionate  heart  into 
the  sick  chamber,  and  joy  and  hope  were  her  hand-maidens. 

"  Send  me  the  Little  Sister,  please,  she  is  so  sweet."  "  Where 
is  that  little  lady  who  sat  up  with  me  last  night  ?  "  "I  want 
her."  *'Please  do  let  her  come  again,"  were  expressions  heard 
every  day  in  the  sick-rooms  of  the  hospitaL  She  was  ever 
busy,  but  the  great  burden  of  her  soul  seemed  to  be  to  save 
from  ruin  the  victim  of  Miss  Buttercup.  The  story  of  Sister 
Irene  had  awakened  a  deeper  interest  in  his  fate,  and  if 
possible,  a  stronger  desire  to  rescue  him.  If  she  had  known 
how  rapidly  that  young  man  was  circling  to  his  destiny  as  a 
moth  around  a  candle,  how  he  had  been  taken  up  drunk  on 
the  street,  tried  by  a  court-martial  and  cashiered,  she  would 
have  been  even  more  alarmed  for  his  safety  than  she  was. 
But  such  things  had  actually  occurred,  and  although  Claude 
was  at  first  repentant,  and  refrained  from  drink  a  day  or  two, 
shutting  himself  up  in  his  room,  and  giving  himself  up  to 
reflections  of  the  most  unpleasant  sort ;  yet  God's  spirit  does 
not  always  strive  with  man,  and  Claude's  repentance  had 
come  too  late.  He  had  got  far  enough  on  the  road  to  refor- 
mation, however,  to  accuse  himself  of  more  than  one  serious 
fault,  and  when  comparing  Miss  Buttercup's  qualities  with 
those  of  Kate  Moore,  had  really  been  dumbfounded  at  his 
own  folly.  The  weight  was  too  heav}^  for  him  to  carry.  His 
nerves  grew  weak  and  shaky  ;  his  throat  and  tongue  dry  as 
powder  ;  his  thirst,  furious.  He  could  not  sleep.  He  lost 
his  appetite.  He  wanted  nothing  so  much  as  whisky,  and 
whisky  he  must  have  or  die. 

He  rushed  from  his  room  like  a  madman,  with  clenched 
fists  and  glaring  eyes,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  was  again  in 
the  gutter. 

The  two  nuns  at  St.  Vincent  de  Paul  had  not  lost  sight  of 
the  object  of  their  solicitude.  They  soon  learned  of  his  dis- 
grace, and  as  it  had  to  come,  saw,  beyond  his  fall,  a  ray  of 
hope  and  a  means  of  escape.    They  had  written  him  warning 


TOM  BURTON.  187 

letters,  they  had  InJuced  gentlemen  friends  to  warn  him  of 
his  perils  ;  but  all  their  efforts  had  been  unavailing.  Still, 
they  knew  no  such  word  as  despair,  and  were  constantly  ap- 
prised of  his  whereabouts  through  the  services  of  a  negro 
man  whom  they  hired  to  look  after  him. 

Fortune  not  only  favors  the  brave,  but  God  helps  those 
who  are  trying  to  do  good. 

What  they  had  failed  to  accomplish  by  the  aid  of  all  their 
best  laid  plans,  was  brought  about  by  an  accident. 

As  their  hired  man  was  returning  from  market  on  the 
day  of  Claude's  last  fiasco,  he  came  upon  that  unfortunate 
gentleman  as  he  lay  on  the  street,  his  face  upturned  to  the 
spring  sky,  and  his  clothing  in  a  condition  not  very  respect- 
able for  persons  in  good  society. 

_  The  negro  recognizing  him  at  once  waked  him  up,  as- 
sisted him  to  his  feet,  and  taking  his  arm  determined  to 
escort  him  to  the  hospitah 

"  Dis  is  no  good  place  for  you,  Mas'  Captain.  So  you  jes' 
come  long,  wid  me.     You  is    in  a  bad    fix." 

"Yes — hie — hold  on  to  me  you  black  scoundrel,  and — hie — 
take  me  to  my  room." 

''  Oh  yes,  Mas'  Captain  I'll  take  yer  to  yer  room.  You 
jes'  hold  fast  ter  me." 

"By You're   a  liar,  you    are  taking    me — hie — away 

from  home.  I— hie— live  at— hie— 229  Main— hie— Street." 
"'  That's  all  right,  Mas'  Captain,  we'll  take  you  dar  bime- 
by.  Tain't  no  use  ter  kick  nor  scratch.  I'se  'gwine  ter  take 
your  whar  you'll  be  'tended  to  ;  so  3-ou  jes'  mought  as  well 
walk  along  like  a  proper  gemman.  I'se  not  a  'gwine  ter 
hurt  ye  at  all,  and  when  you  comes  to  yo'self  right  good,  you 
w^ll  tank  me  mightily  fer  dis  favor.  Sister  Irene  done  tole 
me  look  out  fer  you,  and  I'se'  gwine  ter  do  it  now  I'se  got  a 
good  chance." 

Finding  all  resistance  useless,  Claude,  cursing  and  raving, 
was  dragged  along,  the  negro  trying  to  calm  him  by  soft 
and  easy  words.  By  the  time  they  had  reached  the  gate  of  the 
big  house  at  the  end  of  Fenchurch  Street,  Claude  was  pretty 
well  fagged  out.  His  clothing  was  torn,  his  hair  disheveled, 
his  limbs  sore  and  bruised  by  his  resistance  to  the  efforts  of 
the  strong  negro,  and  altogether  he  was  a  used-up  individ- 
ual, completely  subdued  and  as  tractable  in  the  hands  of  his 
kidnapper  as  an  invalid. 

"  Now  you  knows  you  is  a  sick  man,  Mas'  Captain,  and  de 
hospital  is  de  place  for  sick  folks.  De  ladies  in  dar  will  take 
good  care  on  you,  and  when  you  gits  out  you'll  feel  like  ^ 
bran  now  brass  pin,  dat  jom  will,  Mas'  Captain/ 


188  TOM  BURTON. 

"Yes,  I  am  very  sick.  Hold  on  a  minute.  I — hie — want  to 
throw  up." 

"  Dat's  right,  Mas'  Captain,  get  clear  ob  as  much  of  dat  as 
you  can  afore  you  gits  whar  de  ladies  am.  Hab  you  got 
trou  ?  All  right,  come,  along  trou  dis  gate.  I  will  take  you 
inter  de  'ception  room,  and  once  dem  ladies  gets  you  safe  in 
der  .clutches  you  is  in  Hebben. 

"For  mercy's  sake,  John,  why  have  you  brought  that 
drunken  man  here  ?  "  inquired  Sister  Matilda,  holding  up  her 
hands  in  holy  horror. 

"  He  no  drunk.  Miss  'Tilda,  he's  as  sicker  man  as  ever 
you  seed.  Got  de  cholora  I  b'lieve." 

"  Holy  Mary,  deliver  us,"  exclaimed  Sister  Matilda. 

Sister  Irene  entered,  followed  by  the  Little  Sister. 

"  See,  Ma'am,  he  can't  hold  his  head  up,  he  is  so  sick." 

"  But  his  breath,  John  !  " 

"  Oh,  3'es,  ma'am,  his  breff  smells  like  brandy  'cause  dey  give 
him  dat  fer  de  stomach-ache." 

"  Who  gave  him  brandy  ?  " 

"  His  friens,  ma'am  his  f riens." 

"  Who  are  his  friends,  John,  and  why  did  they  not  come 
with  him  ?  " 

John  looked  a  little  puzzled.  Sister  Irene  looked  at  him 
knowingly. 

"  I  does  not  know  who  dey  is.  I  can't  be  'spected  ter 
know  ever^^body,  Miss  'Tilda.  Dey  say,  '  take  dis  gemman 
to  de  hospital.  Tell  em  we'll  be  'long  dat  way  ter-night. 
Dat's  all  John  knows,  Miss,  'cepts  dat  I  fetched  him." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  to  do  about  this.  Is  Father  OTarrel 
in  the  hospital  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  think  he  is,"  replied  the  Little  Sister." 

"  Tell  him  to  step  here,  please." 

The  priest  soon  put  in  his  appearance. 

"  Father,  this  man  has  been  sent  here  by  some  one.  I  can- 
not find  out  who,  what  shall  I  do  with  him  ?  " 

The  priest  looked  at  Claude  compassionately  and  replied  : 

"  He  looks  like  an  officer  and  appears  to  be  quite  ill. 
You  had  better  send  him  to  a  room,  his  friends  will  prob- 
ably be  along  presently.  Should  they  not  arrive,  however, 
and  he  need  the  services  of  a  physician,  you  may  order  the 
hospital  surgeon ;  this  is  my  advice,"  and  so  saying,  the 
priest,  who  was  going  out,  bade  the  Sisters  good-b^-e,  and 
walked  from  the  room  and  down  the  stone  steps,  while  John 
with  the  help  of  the  two  gleeful  sisters  hustled  their  prisoner 
off  to  a  room  on  the   third  floor,  and   put  him   to  bed,     But 


TOM  BURTON,  189 

surprises  like  misfortunes  are  twin-born.  It  was  not  many 
minutes  before  the  Little  Sister  was  summoned  to  the  hall. 
Leaving  Sister  Irene  in  charge  of  the  weary  Claude  she 
hastened  down  stairs.  An  ambulance  had  driven  up  to  the 
gate.  Staggering  under  the  weight  of  a  tall,  limp,  red- 
headed lad  whose  trowsers  and  coat  were  stiff  with  blood,  an 
old  man  whose  face  wore  an  expression  of  the  deepest  dis- 
tress, clambered  up  the  long  stone  steps  and  entered  the 
hospital. 

There  was  a  settee  in  the  hall  and  upon  that  the  old  man 
carefully  rested  his  apparently  lifeless  burden;  and  stagger- 
ing to  a  chair  himself  as  if  completely  overcome,  he  said : 

'^  Ladies,  this  is  werry  misfortionable.  Thar  is  my  poor 
boy.  Save  him  ef  you  kin.  We  uns  is  from  E-oanoke  Isl- 
and, and  w^e  uns  is  werry  tired." 

There  were  several  of  the  Sisters  present,  and  they  gath- 
ered round  the  old  man  to  hear  his  tale  of  w^oe. 

In  a  moment  the  Little  Sister  recognized  the  pair  as  Cap- 
tain Evans  and  Sammy. 

"  I  know  those  people,  they  are  my  friends,"  she  exclaimed, 
to  Sister  Matilda.     Then  turning  to  Captain  Evans  : 

"  My  dear  old  friend,  do  pray  tell  me  what  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Stabbed,  my  little  un,  stabbed  with  a  Yankee  bagonet 
at  Roanoke  Island.  He  sed  as  how  he  wanted  to  see  you 
afore  he  died,  and  I  have  fotched  him  all  the  way — mostly  on 
my  back.  T'ware  all  my  own  fault.  Poor  boy,"  and  then 
the  old  man's  feelings  overcame  him.  Sister  Matilda  was 
kneeling  by  the  side  of  the  settee. 

"  Go  see  ef  he  are  yit  alive,"  said  the  Captain  to  the  Little 
Sister.  "  Ef  he  isn't  altogether  gone  he  will  rewive  ef  he  knows 
you  is  nigh  unto  him." 

The  Little  Sister  crossed  over  to  the  place  were  the  boy  was 
lying,  just  as  the  old  man  had  laid  him,  and  Sister  Matilda 
was  holding  his  cold  purple  hand. 

She  pressed  her  hand  to  his  brow.  The  touch  seemed  to 
arouse  him,  and  he  partially  raised  his  e^^elids. 

"  Do  you  know  me,  Sammy  ?  " 

The  Little  Sister  was  shocked  at  his  emaciated  appearance, 
as  he  raised  his  dull,  heavy  eyes,  looking  at  the  high  ceiling, 
then  up  and  down  the  long  bare  hall  at  the  Sisters  in  their 
snow  white  cornets,  with  their  anxious  little  faces  peering 
out  from  under  them,  at  his  uncle  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  and  finally  rested  his  wandering  gaze  upon  the  inter- 
rogator. 

"Po  you  know  me,  dear  Sammy  ?  " 


190  TOM  BURTON. 

A  faint  smile,  a  nod  of  the  head  in  the  affirmative,  and  he 
closed  his  eyes  with  a  deep  groan. 

They  thought  he  was  dying. 

"Brandy,  please,  quick,"  whispered  the  Sister  Superior  to 
the  Little  Sister,  who  was  back  with  a  spoon  and  glass  in  a 
minute. 

"  Is  it  dilated  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

Sister  Matilda  touched  the  parched  lips,  and  forced  a  drop 
or  two  between  the  almost  set  teeth. 

"  He  is  most  gone,"  she  whispered  to  the  Little  Sister. 

"  Oh,  the  poor,  good  boy,  he  was  so  kind  to  me.  Can  we 
not  save  him  ?  "  said  the  latter. 

"Alas  !    I  fear  it  is  too  late." 

"  Let  me  sit  down  there,  please  Sister  Matilda.  He  recog- 
nizes me." 

"Certainl}^,  dear.     Take  his  hand.     Feel  how  cold  it  is.'^ 

The  cold  clammy  touch  made  the  Little  Sister  shudder. 

"  You  know  me,  Sammy,  don't  you  ?  " 

This  time  there  came  the  whispered  response  : 

"Yes. 

Then  after  a  little  while. 

"  Are  we  in  Heaven  ?  " 

"  Why,  Sammy  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I  saw  the  angels  standing  around  ;  and  I  felt 
so  good  fer  ter  see  you." 

"  And  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  but  sorry  you  are  so  badly 
hurt." 

"  We  uns  has  had  a  bad  time,  but  we  uns  has  got  here  at 
last,"  and  the  Little  Sister  felt  the  grasp  of  his  cold  hand 
tighten  on  her  own.  Then  he  coughed  and  seemed  to  be 
strangling,  his  breathing  being  all  the  time  short  and  diffi- 
cult. It  was  a  long  time  before  he  again  showed  signs  of 
knowing  anything. 

"  Had  we  better  remove  him  ?  "  asked  the  Little  Sister  of 
Sister  Matilda. 

"  No,  my  child.  But  Captain  Evans  ought  to  be  taken 
care  of.     He  is  looking  very  pale." 

But  the  old  man  would  not  stir. 

They  gave  the  bo}^  more  brandy,  and  again  he  seemed  to 
revive. 

The  Little  Sister  was  standing  by  him.  He  motioned  her 
to  sit  down  by  his  side.     She  did  so. 

He  fumbled  about   for   her   hand.      He  whispered^  "  Tell 


Tom  nuRTOx.  191 

The  old  man  was  called. 

"  We  uns  has  found  her,  uncle.  She  ar  sittiu'  right  here 
by  my  side.  We'll  go  now,  uncle.  The  cunner  are  most  here. 
It'll  soon  be  high  water,  and  we'll  cross  the  bay  and  see 
mother.  Git  in  the  cunner,  sweet  little  un,  git  in,  uncle  ; 
shove  her  off — shove  her  off — good-bye — "  and  with  one  of 
his  hands  in  the  broad  palm  of  the  old  man,  and  the  other  in 
that  of  the  girl,  the  boy  passed  over  the  bay. 

That  day  Norfolk  reaped  the  first  fruits  of  her  darling 
cause.  Happily  for  her,  she  saw  but  little  of  that  rich  harvest 
the  South  gathered  in  during  the  next  three  years  which 
followed.  That  day  hyacinths  and  crocuses  were  blooming  in 
the  grounds  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul.  The  pouting  strawberry 
would  soon  be  blushing  in  the  fields  (they  are  so  plentiful 
there)  but  by  that  time  the  fate  of  the  city  will  be  sealed. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

THE  PLAN  AT  WORK. 

"  Put  him  whar  I  kin  find  him  and  take  him  back  to  his 
angel  mother  when  the  war  is  over,"  were  the  only  instruc- 
tions which  the  old  man  had  to  give  in  regard  to  the  burial  of 
poor  Sammy. 

And  so  they  placed  him  in  a  vault,  in  the  little  Catholic 
cemetery  outside  of  the  city,  near  the  entrenched  camp,  as 
you  go  northward  on  the  old  SewalFs  Point  road  ;  and  the 
old  man  sat  himself  down  there  to  watch  the  tomb  and 
wait. 

As  for  Claude  Walsingham,  the  other  patient,  though  at 
first  only  suffering  from  drunkenness,  and  whose  incarceration 
in  the  hospital  might  at  the  beginning  have  been  regarded  in 
the  light  of  a  huge  joke,  he  came  very  near  following  the  boy  ; 
for  he  was  no  sooner  beginning  to  recover  from  the  stupor  of 
inebriety  than  he  was  seized  with  a  violent  attack  of  typhoid 
fever,  which  laid  him  at  death's  door  for  days  and  weeks. 

In  the  meantime,  all  Norfolk  was  in  high  jinks  over  the  cap- 
ture of  a  negro  spy,  who  was  returning  from  Fortress  Monroe 
with  letters  to  certain  persons  or  a  certain  person,  involving 
the  said  persons  or  person  in  the  crime  of  treason. 

Miss  Buttercup,  for  one,  had  been  arrested,  and  Captain 


102  TOM  BunroK. 

Claude  Walsingham  was  wanted  as  an  accomplice.  The  friends 
of  Claude  were  struck  dumb  with  dismay.  We  say  friends,  we 
should  have  said  acquaintances,  for  most  of  those  who  once 
bore  the  former  relation  had  long  since  repudiated  him. 
Still  they  felt  sorry  for  his  downfall,  and  were  affected  by  his 
disgrace  in  so  far  as  their  association  with  him  had  been  in- 
timate or  distant. 

While  the  particulars  were  suppressed,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  the  news  of  Claude's  downfall  spread  like  a  wild-fire 
in  a  prairie,  and  not  only  was  his  name  associated  with  some 
great  unmentioned  crime,  from  one  end  of  the  Confederacy 
to  the  other,  but  paragraphs  from  Northern  journals  were 
copied  from  paper  to  paper,  until  there  was  no  place  from 
Canada  to  the  Gulf,  or  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific, 
where  newspapers  were  read,  in  which  his  name  was  not  a 
synonym  for  treason. 

On  the  Eastern  Shore,  where  lived  many  of  his  relatives 
and  companions  of  his  3'outh,  people  who  had  high  hopes  of 
his  future  attainments  in  the  field  as  well  as  the  councils  of 
his  State  and  country,  the  blow  fell  heaviest  of  all. 

They  had  heard  of  his  escapades  with  Miss  Buttercup,  of 
his  intemperance,  and  all  the  other  unpleasant  rumors  about 
him,  and  while  these  things  gave  free  scope  to  gossip,  people 
who  knew  that  Claude  was  a  jolly  good  fellow,  generous, 
pleasure  loving,  and  all  such  as  that,  said :  "  He's  only  having 
a  little  fun.  He'll  come  out  all  right.  You  just  wait  until 
he  gets  into  active  service  ;  3"ou  will  see  that  he  will  give  a 
good  account  of  himself.'^ 

But  when  this  last  report  came  over,  that  he  was  a  traitor, 
and  that  his  neck  would  soon  be  inside  a  halter,  or  a  half 
dozen  bullets  through  his  heart,  shot  there  b}^  his  own  people, 
they  ceased  to  extenuate,  and  set  him  down  as  one  who  had  dis- 
appointed all  their  hopes,  betrayed  the  trust  his  friends  had  re- 
posed in  him,  and  richly  deserved  the  most  condign  punish- 
ment that  could  be  inflicted. 

Colonel  Burton,  perhaps  his  greatest  enemy,  though  an 
honorable  one,  himself  was  hurt,  and  refused  to  think  or  talk 
about  the  matter  with  any  one,  only  saying  that  he  was 
sorry  to  hear  it  and  hoped  there  was  some  mistake ;  and  ven- 
tured to  say  that  it  would  j^et  appear  that  Captain  Claude 
Walsingham  had  been  imposed  upon. 

Meanwhile,  his  whereabouts,  unknown  to  all,  save  the  in- 
mates of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  and  his  real  name  only  to  two 
of  the  sisters,  Claude  was  writhing  in  the  agonies  of  fever, 
delirious,  raving,  careering,  as  it  were,  on  the  very   ragged 


TOM  BUBTON.  I90 

edge  of  an  abyss  so  deep  and  dark,  that  to  have  fallen  over 
into  it  would  have  forever  put  him  beyond  the  reach  of 
his  maliguers,  or  the  care  of  his  friends. 

It  was  well  that  Claude  was  drunk  when  he  was  taken  to 
St.  Vincent's ;  and  that  his  cognomen  was  unknown.  The 
servant,  John,  knew  him  as  a  captain  in  the  army,  and  the 
two  nuns  were  not  ignorant  of  his  full  name,  but,*^for  fear  it 
might  interfere  with  the  working  of  their  plans,  they  had 
thought  best  not  to  reveal  it. 

Claude  was  so  much  intoxicated  that  he  could  not  remem- 
ber his  own  name,  and  his  relapse  into  the  delirium  of  typhoid 
fever  was  so  sudden,  that  it  had  been  impossible  for  the 
Sister  Superior,  or  the  doctor,  to  obtain  his  history.  His  en- 
try was  : 

"  A  Confederate  Captain,"  (name  unknown),  entered  Feb- 
ruary, —  1862;  age  about  30;  complexion  light;  con- 
dition, stupor,  caused  by  alcoholic  indulgence,  or  some  un- 
known and  undeveloped  disease ;  assigned  to  third  floor, 
room  26." 

So  far  he  was  safe.  The  city  was  scoured  by  the  military 
authorities  to  find  him,  but  in  vain. 

They  at  last  made  up  their  minds  that  he  had  escaped  to 
the  Federals,  and  was  safely  ensconced  at  Fortress  Monroe. 

All  this  time  Claude  was  a  sick  man.  To  nurse  him.  Sister 
Irene  was  appointed,  assisted  by  the  novice.  The  latter  was 
allowed  to  dress  in  the  insignia  of  the  order.  In  doing  this, 
she  was  allowed  to  retain  her  wealth  of  brown  hair,  which 
she  dexterously  tucked  under  her  cornet.  The  change  of 
dress,  while  it  served  as  a  complete  disguise,  did  not  mar  her 
striking  beauty.  Her  dark  eyes  were  darker  still,  her  rich 
complexion  more  delicately  fair,  her  placid  countenance 
more  interesting  than  before,  and  the  lithe  outlines  of 
her  perfect  little  form  appeared  to  good  advantage,  though 
draped  in  the  plain,  full  robe  of  the  Sisters  of  St.  Vincent  de 
Paul. 

"  You  are  the  prettiest  little  nun  I  ever  did  see,"  said 
Sister  Irene,  as  she  ran  to  her  and  kissed  her  over  and  over, 
the  day  she  first  arrayed  herself  in  her  new  costume.  "  I 
know  of  but  one  drawback  to  your  success  in  your  new  voca- 
tion," she  continued. 

^^  And  pray  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  You  are  too  attractive." 

"You  wrong  me,  my  dear  Sister  Irene.  I  should  despise 
my  very  self  if  I  thought  for  a  moment  there  was  anything 
in  my  face  or  form  which  invited  a  worldly  feeling.  I  know 
my  heart  is  pure." 


194  I^OM  BURTON. 

"Forgive  me,  m}'-  dearest  little  one.  You  misunderstand 
me.  I  did  not  mean  that  there  was  anything  sensuous  in 
your  appearance.  On  the  contrary,  you  are  angelic.  But 
the  world  is  charmed  as  much  by  such  beauty,  and  even 
more  so,  than  b}^  that  which  savors  of  the  impure." 

"Tut,  tut,  Sister  Irene;  you  are  too  complimentary.  Now 
you  just  say  your  prayers  and  jump  into  your  bed  and  get  a 
good  nap,  while  I  go  and  see  how  our  poor  prisoner  is  fight- 
ing his  battle  with  the  old  man  with  his  sickle.  The  doctor 
thinks  he's  getting  the  better  of  it,  and  will  pull  through  if 
he  holds  out  a  few  days  longer." 

"  And  I  think  he  ought  to  be  pretty  well  cured  of  his 
moral,  as  well  as  his  mental  aberrations  by  the  time  he  gets 
through  with  this  spell,"  suggested  Sister  Irene. 

"But  w^hat  shall  we  do  when  he  gets  well  ?  They'll  ar- 
rest him  immediately  if  he  appears  in  the  street ;  and  we  all 
know  he  is  not  guilty." 

"  Your  faith  in  the  captain's  vindication  and  restitution  is 
strong,  my  little  friend.  I  trust  j^our  prophetic  acumen  will 
prove  correct,  and  everything  come  out  as  gratifying  as  the 
denouement  of  an  ordinary  love  novel,  but  I  must  confess 
I  am  somewhat  in  doubt  as  to  the  final  result.  His  cap- 
tainship's luck  seems  to  be  sadly  at  fault.  He  no  sooner 
gets  out  of  one  trouble,  than  in  spite  of  himself  and  all  his 
friends  can  do  to  help  him,  he  gets  into  another." 

"Maybe  he  is  coming  to  the  end  of  his  trials,  Sister 
Irene." 

"  Yes,  if  his  trials  do  not  bring  him  to  his  end,  my  dear 
little  friend." 

"  Which  may  the  Holy  Virgin  forfend.  Good  night, 
Sister  Irene,  and  pleasant  dreams," 

"  Alas  !  my  pleasant  dreams  are  all  in  the  past.  I  hope 
you  will  find  the  captain  very  much  better.     Good-bj-e." 

Back  in  the  south-east  corner  of  the  third  floor  of  the 
building  was  situated  the  room  where  Claude  lay. 

Down  one  flight  of  steps,  and  through  a  long  corridor,  the 
Little  Sister  tripped  with  light  footsteps.  She  had  every 
reason  to  believe  her  patient  was  convalescent,  and  this  made 
her  heart  as  light  as  her  footstep.  There  was  a  bright  smile 
irradiating  all  over  her  face,  and  when  she  entered  Claude's 
chamber,  it  was  as  if  a  ray  of  sunshine  had  suddenly  burst 
into  the  room,  although  the  sick  man  was  not  in  a  condition 
to  fully  realize  it.  The  apartment  was  scrupulously  clean, 
and  unobstructed  with  useless  furniture.  A  table,  on  which 
were  some  phials  aiul  [ijll-boxes,  ice-water  and  tumblers,  milk 


TOM  BURTON,  195 

pitcher,  spoons,  lemons,  sugar  and  brand}^ ;  two  easy  chairs 
and  the  couch  on  which  the  invalid  had  already  tossed  for 
over  twenty  days,  were  all  the  appointments. 

With  the  exception  of  a  slight  odor  peculiar  to  the  disease, 
there  was  nothing  in  the  room  to  indicate  that  a  human  being 
had  there  been  alternating  between  life  and  death  for  so  many 
daj's-save  the  emaciated  face  of  the  sick  one,  and  the  thinning 
out  of  his  once  profuse  auburn  locks.  For  fourteen  days  Claude 
had  been  out  of  his  head,  knowing  nothing.  During  that 
time  he  had  talked  of  everything  he  ever  knew,  and  a  great 
deal  of  what,  when  in  health,  he  had  forgotten.  But  the  most 
singular  thing  of  all  was  that  he  entirely  lost  all  recollection 
of  recent  events,  and  it  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  he 
could  be  led  back  only  a  few  weeks  to  the  most  ordinary 
events  in  his  recent  career. 

This  was  a  fortunate  circumstance  for  the  work  which  the 
two  nuns  had  in  view.  If  he  had  only  forgotten  Miss 
Buttercup  and  whisky,  they  might  hope  to  reclaim  him. 

As  the  Little  Sister  glided  into  the  room,  he  looked  at  her 
with  a  sort  of  stare,  and  asked  : 

^^AVho  are  you?" 

"  Your  nurse.  Don^t  you  remember  me  ?  "  she  answered, 
in  a  cheerful  voice. 

"  Who  ?  "  he  repeated  in  a  loud  voice. 

"  Your  nurse,"  rejoined  the  Little  Sister,  going  up  near 
the  bedside  and  raising  her  voice  to  a  high  pitch. 

"  Oh,  yes.     I'm  deaf.     W^here's  the  other  one  ?  " 

"  Sister  Irene  ?  " 

"  Sister  somebody.     I  don't  know  her  name." 

'^  Well,  she's  out.     Do  you  want  her  ?  " 

"Xo,  I  was  only  trying  to  keep  the  run  of  you  all.  Have 
I  ever  seen  you  before  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  reijlied  the  Little  Sister,  smiling.  "Look 
at  me  and  see  if  you  can't  call  me  to  mind." 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  do.  You  look  kind  of  natural.  Will  you 
please  give  me  some  milk  ?  " 

"Certainly." 

Claude  drank  and  turned  over.  He  dozed  half  an  hour, 
and   after  lying   quietly  for    several    minutes,  said  : 

"Where  am  I,  and  how  long  have  I  been  sick  ?  " 

"  You  have  been  here  over  three  weeks,  and  this  is  St. 
Vincent's  Hospital." 

"  W^here  did  I  come  from  and  what  am  I  doing  sick  here  ?  " 

"  You  were  taken  sick  and  brought  here." 

"  From  the  Eastern  Shore  ?  " 


196  TOM  BURTON. 

"  No.  you've  been  living  in  Norfolk  for  some  time." 

"  Is  your  name  Kate  Moore  ?  " 

"No.     Who  is  she?" 

"Oh,  sure  enough.  What  am  I  talking  about.  I  once 
knew  a  young  lady  by  that  name.  I  was  engaged  to  be 
married  to  her.     But  she    is  taller  than    you." 

"  Did  you  think  a  great  deal  of  her  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  suppose  so  ;  though  there  was  another  little  girl 
I  think  I  could  have  loved  better,  but  her  family  didn't  suit 
me." 

"Who  was  she,  Captain  ?  " 

"  Her  name  was  Mary — Mary  Burton.  She  saved  my  life 
once;  and  her  big  brother  was  going  to  punish  me  pretty 
severely,  but  she  took  my  part." 

"  What  was  that  for  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  ashamed  to  speak  of  it  now ;  its  all  past  and 
gone.  But  come,  sit  down  here,  and  tell  me  how  I  came  to 
be  in  Norfolk,  and  in  this  place.  I  feel  better  if  I  can  be 
near  enough  to  you  to  touch  your  hand.     It  electrifies  me." 

"Of  course,  you  cannot  expect  me  to  know  much  about 
you,  before  you  came  here.  Although  you  have  told  us  a  great 
deal  about  your  past  life  since  you  have  been  sick." 

"  Talking  out  of  my  head  ?  " 

"  Yes.  You  know  you  came  here  from  your  home  as  an 
officer  in  the  army." 

"  Oh,  yes.  The  North  and  the  South  are  at  war.  Yes, 
I  remember.  But  what  have  I  been  doing  all  this  time  in 
Norfolk  ?  " 

"  Living  rather  a  fast  life.  Captain." 

"  Me,  living  a  fast  life  !  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Am  I  Claude  Walsingham  ?  " 

"I  suppose  so." 

"  W^hat  do  you  mean  by  a  fast  life  ?  " 

"  Well  now,  you  must  not  put  me  in  a  categorical  position, 
Captain.  Overhaul  your  memory  a  little,  and  see  if  you  can- 
not recall  some  moral  lapses  of  quite  recent  date." 

"I  remember  enlisting  in  the  army,  of  having  to  retreat 
from  the  Eastern  Shore,  since  which  time,  everything  seems 
vague  and  dream-like.  But  my  head  aches,  now,  and  if  you 
will  please  hand  me  a  glass  of  milk,  I  will  try  and  sleep  a 
little.  Perhaps,  when  I  am  better  I  shall  be  able  to  connect 
things  with  more  certitude.  You  are  a  nice  little  Sister, 
and  I  already  like  you  very  much,  Won't  you  stay  with  me 
a  great  deal  ?  " 


TOM  BURTON.  I97 

The  Little  Sister  assured  him  that  he  should  want  for 
nothing  that  was  in  her  power  to  bestow,  and  smoothing  his 
pillow,  she  left  him  alone  with  a  bewildered  brain  and  the 
wild  dreams  of  a  yet  enfeebled  intellect,  well  pleased,  so  far, 
with  the  success  of  her  darling  scheme. 


CHAPTER  XXYII. 

THE    VISION. 

When  the  Little  Sister  again  peeped  into  Claude's  room, 
he  was  wide  awake  and  seeing  her  enter,  beckoned  her  to  his 
bedside. 

"  Have  you  slept  ?  *'  she  inquired,  taking  his  hand  as 
usual. 

"  Yes  ;  and  oh  I  such  a  dream  as  I  have  had."' 

"  A  good  or  bad  one  ?  "' 

"  All  sorts.     Let  me  tell  it  to  you." 

"  Hadn't  you  better  rest  ?  " 

"  No,  I  feel  much  better  now,  and  this  plaguey  dream 
bothers  me  so  I  must  get  rid  of  it." 

"  Well,  then,  if  it  will  relieve  you  to  relate  it,  and  you 
think  it  will  not  excite  you  too  much,  go  ahead." 

^'  You  know  I  was  trying  to  recall  some  matters  when  you 
were  here  before,  and  with  my  mind  puzzled  about  it  I  drop- 
ped off  into  a  little  nap,  during  which  I  had  a  most  fantastic 
vision. 

••'  I  thought  I  was  home  on  the  Eastern  Shore  of  Yirginia, 
and  somehow  or  other  a  war  broke  out  between  the  Aboli- 
tionists, that  is  the  Xorthern  Methodist  people,  you  know." 
The  Little  Sister  nodded  her  head  in  affirmation,  and 
Claude  continued — "and  the  better  class  of  people  who  are 
sometimes  styled  Bourbons,  3'ou  know,  or  aristocrats.  And 
I  of  course,  siding  with  the  latter,  had  to  go  away  some  where 
to  fight  them.  I  felt  very  well  and  strong,  and  all  my  heart 
seemed  to  be  in  the  cause,  for  I  despised  those  low-born  eman- 
cipators, and  longed  to  exterminate  them.  If  I  don't  speak 
loud  enough  let  me  know  ;  and  if  I  get  weary  and  give  out, 
wait  for  me,  because  I  want  to  tell  you  all  of  it.  If  you  hold  my 
hand  I  think  I  shall  not  get  tired.  Well,  when  I  arrived  at  the 
place  where  I  was  to   meet  the   enemy,  I  found   them  gone. 


198  TOM  BURTON. 

somewhere  I  knew  not.  At  all  events  I  couldn't  find  them. 
Now,  while  I  was  there  waiting  for  something,  I  do  not 
know  what,  living  a  sort  of  gay  and  voluptuous  life,  such  as 
seems  to  naturally  belong  to  an  inactive  military  campaign, 
I  met  a  very  lovely  woman,  most  perfect  in  form,  most  beau- 
tiful in  features.  I  remember  as  plainly  as  if  I  saw  it  now, 
her  hand  and  arm  which  were  so  shapely,  the  latter  very 
much  like  your — no  doubt  it  was  yours  which  suggested  the 
idea — be  that  as  it  may,  I  must  confess  I  was  perfectly  en- 
raptured with  this  person.  She  was  larger  than  j^ou  ;  and 
her  attire  was  something  superb.  The  impression  which 
still  remains  upon  my  brain  tells  me  she  was  a  sort  of  Arab- 
ian Nights'  fairy — " 

"A  very  pleasant  being  to  contemplate.  Captain,"  inter- 
rupted the  Little  Sister,  as  much  to  give  the  feeble  narrator 
time  to  breathe,  as  anj^thing. 

''Yes,  as  pretty  as  a  picture.  But  let  me  go  on.  Well, 
now,  this  siren  was  so  fascinating,  and  managed  to  get  such 
a  hold  on  me  that  I  forgot  to  go  back  home,  giving  myself 
up  to  her,  heart  and  soul." 

"  AVhich  many  a  warrior  has  done  before  you,"  again  put 
in  the  Little  Sister. 

"  Yes,  Sister,  and  to  their  sorrow,  as  it  proved  to  me  in 
my  vision." 

"  Indeed." 

"  Of  a  truth.  Now,  when  I  think  of  how  I  behaved,  I  am 
disgusted  with  myself ;  for  this  woman  proved  to  be  a  demon 
in  disguise." 

"  Strange,"  ejaculated  the  Little  Sister. 

"  Not  stranger  than  true,  my  sweet  nurse,  and  although  I 
tried  my  hardest  to  break  the  spell,  I  could  not  get  away 
from  her.  It  seemed  to  me  I  was  bound  to  her  by  ten  thou- 
sand cords  of  steel.  I  could  neither  leave  her  or  resist  her 
blandishments.  Then,  somehow  or  other  I  got  all  tangled 
up  in  my  dream,  almost  losing  my  identity.  She  seemed  to 
put  me  finally  into  a  sort  of  mesmerized  state,  from  which  I 
awoke  to  find  myself,  not  in  the  presence  of  resplendent 
beauty,  but  confronted  by  a  living  skeleton.  I  shudder  now, 
when  I  think  of  how  she  appeared  to  me.  Instead  of  the 
classic  hands  once  so  round  and  plump,  of  which  I  have 
spoken,  I  saw  only  the  bare  phalanges,  nude  of  flesh  and 
filth}'.  Her  once  lovely  eyes  were  sunken  far  back  in  their 
hollow  sockets,  and  had  a  glassy  and  dead  expression.  Her 
rich  dark  hair  no  longer  adorned  her  bare  white  skull.  Her 
once  beautiful  nose  was  no  longer  there,  only  the  wide  XiQ^- 


TOM  BURTON.  199 

trils,  like  black  caverns,  her  teeth,  denuded  of  their 
gums,  grinned  in  my  face  so  ghastly,  my  very  blood  curd- 
led in  my  veins.  There  was  now  no  dimpled  chin,  but 
a  lower  jaw  short  and  protruding,  like  that  of  a  gorilla. 
Even  while  I  gazed  at  her,  filled  with  disgust  and  dread, 
her  rich  robes  of  silk  and  satin  dropped  from  a  form 
which  artists  delighted  to  copy,  and  left  to  naked  view 
the  outlines  of  a  hideous  cadaver.  I  was  chained  to  the  spot 
unable  to  move.  I  was  frightened,  and  tried  to  call  you, 
but  could  not  articulate  a  single  word. 

'•Presently,  this  awful  spectre  caught  my  hand  in  her  flesh- 
less  grasp  and  drew  me  away,  her  bones  rattling  and  her 
joints  creaking  as  she  went  through  the  gasless  streets  of  a 
deserted  city,  out  into  barren  fields,  through  deep  dark 
forests,  to  a  black  and  torpid  stream,  which  seemed  to  be 
flowing  rapidly  down  through  dark  and  fetid  regions  of 
swamp,  its  banks  reeking  with  slimy  serpents,  and  gaunt  and 
hungry  looking  crocodiles. 

'•'There  we  came  to  a  boat,  a  sort  of  canoe,  and  into  this 
she  stepped,  drawing  me  after  her,  and  seizing  an  oar  she 
steered  the  low  black  craft  out  into  the  stream,  down  the 
•river  w^e  sailed. 

"  My  grim  pilot  stood  up  behind  me  in  the  boat,  and  laugh- 
ed in  derision  at  my  helpless  condition,  a  hollow  mocking 
laugh.  It  was  not  long  before  the  river  widened,  themarsiies 
were  left  behind,  and  we  were  passing  through  a  splendid 
country  ;  w^hose  sloping  plains  and  extended  vistas  seemed 
to  stretch  into  the  very  confines  of  Paradise.  Along  the 
margin  of  the  swiftly  flying  stream  lay  lawns  of  emerald  ver- 
dure, where  happ}^  children  played,  and  men  and  women 
basked  in  the  shady  groves,  or  strolled  through  avenues  of 
lofty  Lombardies,  w^hose  cool,  green  tops  seemed  to  be  in 
close  communion  with  the  azure  of  the  summer  sky.  I  long- 
ed to  leap  into  the  water  and  swim  away  to  the  pleasant 
shore,  but  I  could  not.  Alas,  I  was  a  prisoner  and  bound  to 
the  dismal  regions  of  darkness,  as  fast  as  the  rapid  current 
could  sw^eep  us  on  ;  while  all  around  me  on  either  side  was 
life  and  health  and  happiness.  By  and  by,  the  river  grew  more 
rapid,  the  banks  less  inviting,  the  sun  began  to  slope  toward 
the  West,  and  away  ahead  I  heard  the  roar  of  an  awful  cata- 
ract, toward  which  the  eddying  stream  seemed  to  be  gliding 
with  the  velocity  of  time  itself.  I  looked,  and  beyond  the  ra- 
pids I  saw  a  w^ide  and  shoreless  ocean,  dark  with  clouds  lashed 
by  tempests,  and  roaring  with  a  fury  which  could  be  detect- 
ed even  above  that  made  by  the  rush  of  water  at  tlie  fulls. 


200  TOM  BUETOX. 

I  gave  up  in  desi)air,  and  must  have  suffered  in  my  sleej),  for 
my  bed  is  even  now  damp  from  perspiration.  It  makes  my 
very  flesh  creep  when  I  think  how  dismayed  I  felt. 

All  this  time  I  had  not  thought  to  pray.  You  know  I  al- 
ways despised  religion." 

"  Is  that  possible  ?  " 

"  Indeed  it  is  only  too  true.  Like  Paul,  I  persecuted  the 
Christians,  and  now  it  began  to  come  to  my  mind  that  perhaps 
this  was  a  punishment  sent  upon  me  for  my  evil  deeds.  I  could 
do  nothing  else,  so  I  tried  to  pray.  But  I  could  not  utter  a  word. 
My  tongue  was  paralyzed.  But  in  my  heart  I  prayed,  with 
closed  lips  and  upturned  eyes.  I  promised  God  every  thing 
if  he  w^ould  save  me,  and  all  the  while  we  drifted  on. 

I  know  not  how  long  I  prayed ;  but  as  I  still  implored,  I 
caught  the  sound  of  singing  afar  off,  and  soon  above  my 
head  the  whirr  of  wings,  and  then  the  sight  of  a  great  com- 
pany of  angelic  beings,  who  seemed  to  be  passing  over  the 
river  from  one  side  to  the  other,  but  far  up  in  the  heavens. 
As  they  approached  the  middle  of  the  stream,  where  we 
drifted,  they  stooj^ed  in  their  course,  and  regarded  me  and 
ni}^  strange  captor  with  a  moment's  interest,  and  then  sailed 
away  on  their  aerial  journey.  Thousands  passed  me  thus,  th^ 
faces  of  some  of  whom  I  recognized,  especially  one  whom  I 
left  on  the  shore  weeping,  when,  full  of  ambition,  I  started 
on  my  unrighteous  errand  ;  but  she,  like  the  rest,  gave  a 
glance  of  commiseration  and  passed  on,  singing  as  she  went. 

At  last  I  caught  sight  of  one  sweet  face,  like  yours,  it  was ; 
and  now  my  time  was  growing  short,  the  fearful  roar  of  the 
midnight  ocean  bellowing  loudly,  and  the  fretted  water 
w^hirling  and  surging  about  the  frail  bark.  I  thought  she 
would  i^ass  me  too,  and  all  hope  was  gone  ;  when  halting  in 
her  course,  she  gazed  upon  me  intently,  then  circling  round 
and  round  above  my  head  until  I  felt  the  fanning  of  her 
golden  wings,  she  reached  forth  her  tapering  finger  and 
touched  the  head  of  the  frightful  monster  beliind  me.  I  heard 
a  crash  as  of  dry  bones  falling  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  and 
saw  the  hateful  demon  lying  there  in  a  heap,  and  alighting 
where  the  grim  pilot  had  stood,  the  angel  took  the  helm. 

I  now  had  turned  round,  and  there  stood  one  whose 
face  I  knew  a  long  time  ago.  It  was  she  who  twice  before 
had  stood  between  me  and  j^eril,  risking  all  that  I  might  es- 
cape pain  and  death.  Slie  held  out  her  hand — so  much  like 
this,  I  could  almost  make  oath  it  were  the  same — and  touched 
my  lips.  In  a  moment  I  was  changed.  I  felt  myself  rising 
in  mid-air^  and  ascending,  wing-and-wing,   with   my  angelic 


TOM  BURTON.  201 

rescuer.  Far  below  me,  I  saw  tlie  boat  tossed  wildly  by  the 
mad  billows,  plungiDg  headlong  over  the  rapids  and  disap- 
pearing in  the  seething  abyss.  And  then  we  rose  to  greater 
heights,  until,  no  longer  chilled  by  the  dread  of  death,  in  the 
genial  rays  of  the  declining  sun  we  soared  away  to  regions  of 
unutterable  bliss,  and  I  awoke. 

And  while  I  la^^,  my  heart  yet  panting  with  the  excite- 
ment of  my  unaccountable  dream,  and  waiting  for  you  to 
come  in,  I  promised  God,  if  he  would  raise  me  from  this  bed 
of  sickness,  I  would  change  my  life  and  be  a  better  man, 
and  if  I  could  ever  find  an  opportunity,  I  would  by  some  sac- 
rifice make  atonement  to  her  who  I  now  acknowledge  as  the 
best  friend  I  ever  had,  even  my  guardian  angel,  sweet  Mary 
Burton." 

The  tears  were  glistening  in  his  eyes,  the  perspiration 
standing  on  his  pale  brow,  while  the  Little  Sister,  with  her 
face  turned  away,  was  weeping  silently.  Her  prayers  had 
been  answered,  her  work  almost  accomplished  ;  so  ready  are 
the  good  angels  and  willing  to  help  us,  even  though  we  only 
resolve  to  do  a  gracious  act. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

THE   REVELATIOX    AND    RESOLVE. 

Six  days  after  the  incident  related  in  the  last  chapter,  and 
the  9th  of  March  was  at  hand. 

The  day  before  had  been  one  of  unusual  excitement  at  Nor- 
folk. The  greatest  effort  of  mechanical  skill  and  inventive 
genius  yet  put  forth  by  the  Confederates,  and  perhaps  by 
mankind  in  the  art  of  naval  warfare,  had  that  day  been  con- 
summated, and  had  culminated  in  a  result  as  signal  as  it  was 
astonishing.  So  much  so,  that  the  most  sanguine  adherent 
of  the  Union  cause  began  to  look  with  serious  forebodings 
upon  the  ultimate  success  of  the  country's  struggle,  and  the 
restoration  of  the  Federal  Government. 

The  "Merrimac,"  an  old  hulk  left  burned  to  the  water's  edge 
and  sunk  by  the  United  States  authorities  when  they  evacu- 
ated the  Gosport  navy  yard,  had  been  raised,  reconstructed, 
built  upon  with  laj^ers  of  wood  and  iron,  launched  and 
equipped,  and  had  steamed  down  the  Elizabeth  Biver   to 


202  TOM  BURTON. 

Hampton  Roads,  sunk  two  of  the  finest  ships  of  the  Federal 
Navy,  and  inflicted  a  loss  upon  her  adversaries  of  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  men ;  with  only  two  of  her  crew  killed  and 
eight  wounded,  and  that  by  an  explosion  of  one  of  her  own 
guns. 

With  colors  flying,  and  amid  the  salvos  of  Confederate 
artillery  and  the  wild  acclamations  of  thousands  of  rejoicing 
people,  she  had  sailed  back,  at  the  close  of  that  eventful  day, 
in  all  her  glory,  the  pride  of  the  Confederacy  and  the  wonder 
of  the  world. 

All  Secessia  stood  on  tiptoe,  and  all  the  Union  trembled. 
There  was  no  eye  to  pity,  no  arm  to  save.  Claude  Walsing- 
ham,  who  was  getting  better  rapidly,  so  rapidly  that  he  was 
sitting  up,  heard  the  guns,  and  inquired  the  cause. 

''  They  are  fighting  down  the  river,"  replied  Sister  Irene, 
who  was  relieving  the  Little  Sister  that  day. 

"  Fighting,"  repeated  Claude,  vaguel3\ 

"Yes  ;  the  "Virginia"  went  down  the  harbor,  this  morn- 
ing." 

"What  "Virginia"? 

"  The  iron-clad ;  don't  j^ou  understand  ? '' 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  do  remember,  now."  Claude  put  his  hand  to 
his  brow,  as  if  to  collect  his  thoughts.  "  It  seems  like  a 
dream  ;  I  have  been  sick  so  long,  and  dreamed  so  much,  I 
can  scarcely  discern  between  the  visionary  and  the  real. 
Will  you  not  sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  it,  just  as  it  is  ? 
and  when  I  have  got  it  all  straight  in  my  head,  it  will  all 
come  back  to  me,  I  think." 

"Well,  now,  to  begin.     The  country  is  at  war." 

"  Yes,  I  realize  that." 

"  And  you,  yourself,  are  a  Confederate  officer." 

"  Go  on." 

"  Your  recent  illness  has  been  so  severe,  that  it  has  caused 
a  suspension  of  memory.  As  I  go  and  relate  to  3'ou  the  facts 
connected  with  your  recent  past,  you  will,  no  doubt,  be  able 
to  grasp  them.  You  came  over  to  ^tSTorfolk,  when  your  part 
of  the  country  was  invaded  by  the  enem3\  While  here,  you 
were  taken  sick,  and  brought  to  the  hospital." 

"  The  other  Sister  has  told  me  that ;  but  there  is  an  in- 
terim, and  it  is  that  interim  which  hangs  upon  me  like  a 
nightmare.  I  have  puzzled  my  brain  a  thousand  times  to 
unravel  it.  Tell  me  all  about  it.  No  matter  how  unpleasant 
it  is,  I  can  bear  it." 

"  I  must  inform  you,  Captain,  at  the  beginning,  it  is  not 
the  most  pleasing  part  of  your  life  to  recall  j  but  as  you  de- 


TOM  BURTOif.  203 

sire  me  to  speak  of  it,  and  the  time  seems  to  have  arrived 
for  me  to  do  so,  I  will  gratify  you.  It  may  do  you  an  un- 
accountable amount  of  good."  Sister  Irene  spoke  slowly, 
and  very  impressively. 

"After  arriving  in  Norfolk,  you  were  carried  away  by  en- 
thusiasm, and  the  gayeties  of  the  city,  and  became  intem- 
perate. Young  and  impressionable,  you  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  a  very  bad  woman.  With  her  influence,  you  sank 
rapidly  to  disgrace." 

"  Do  you  refer  to  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  you,  Claude  Walsingham.  You  will  allow  me  to 
tell  you  of  your  faults,  because  you  know  I  am  your  friend. 
That  woman  I  refer  to,  led  you  astray.  You  fell  from  your 
high  position  in  society.  The  woman  in  the  case  was 
arrested  for  treason,  and  you  were  by  some  means  impli- 
cated." 

"  Great  God  !    is  this  so,  or  a  horrid  dream  ? 

"This  is  all  so.  The  charge,  I  think,  is  that  of  communi- 
cating important  information  to  the  Commandant  of  Fortress 
Monroe,  in  regard  to  the  defenses  of  Norfolk.  Had  you  not 
been  sick,  and  under  this  roof,  you  would  now  be  languish- 
ing in  prison,  or,  perhaps,  shot  long  ago." 

Claude  was  so  pale,  that  Sister  Irene  was  afraid  she  was 
premature.  He  pressed  his  hand  to  his  brow  again,  and 
said: 

"  I  begin  to  realize  it  all,  but  yet  indifferently.  Oh,  that 
horrid  woman!  But  go  on,  Sister  Irene;  let  it  all  come 
now,  even  if  it  kills  me." 

"  No  one  knows  of  your  whereabouts  but  the  Little  Sister, 
and  myself.  We  have  not  only  nursed  you  in  your  sickness, 
but  protected  you  and  shielded  you  from  arrest." 

"  How  shall  I  ever  repay  you,  dear  ladies  ?  I  tell  you,  so 
help  me  Heaven,  as  I  expect  to  die  and  be  judged  at  the  last 
day,  I  am  not  guilty." 

"  So  we  believe." 

"But  how  am  I  to  repair  all  this  injury  to  my  name  and 
family  ?     What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"To  answer  you  in  detail  would  require  a  sermon.  Let 
me  in  a  general  and  concise  manner  tell  you  what  you  must 
do.  The  Little  Sister  and  I  have  undertaken  to  see  you 
through,  and  if  you  will  be  guided  by  us,  you  may  yet  be 
saved." 

"  How  could  I  refuse  such  guidance  ?  " 

"First,  you  must  remain  here  until  you  are  strong.  Then 
you  must  get  out  of  the  city,  make    your  way  to   Riclimond 


^Oi  TOM  BtlBTOJ^, 

and  enlisting  in  the  army  as  a  private  soldiei*,  Redeem  your- 
self from  the  opprobrium  of  the  false  charges  made  against 
you.  They  are  fighting  on  tlie  peninsula,  and  you  can  find 
a  place  in  which  to  serve  your  country  from  which  you  can 
rise  to  eminence  or  die  at  the  post  of  duty.  Blood  wipes  out 
sins.  Once  more  on  your  feet,  you  can  face  the  crime  now 
charged  against  you,  and  defend  j^ourself.  Secondly,  you  must 
be  temperate,  ay,  in  your  case,  abstemious.  Thirdly,  you 
must  not  be  carried  away  by  the  charms  of  the  softer  sex, 
especially  when  they  are  found  in  persons  of  unsavory  rep- 
utation. Fourthly,  you  must  fulfil  all  the  vows  you  have 
made,  if  in  so  doing  you  do  not  violate  a  good  conscience. 
If  you  will  do  these  things  trusting  in  Grod  for  help,  and  j^ou 
are  really  innocent,  it  will  all  be  well  with  you  again. 

"  Sister  Irene,  I  thank  you  for  this  revelation,  and  I  swear 
that  henceforth  I  will  live  a  virtuous  and  an  honorable  life. 
As  my  past  conduct  comes  back  to  me  I  see  all  my  folly  ;  and 
my  sins  are  ever  before  me." 

"  Keep  3^ourself  in  that  frame  of  mind,  my  dear  Captain, 
and  your  restitution  is  an  assured  fact ;  nothing  but  the  most 
circumspect  life  will  now  save  you  from  the  lowest  depths  of 
ignominy." 

"  With  your  help,  the  Little  Sister's  and  God's,  I  will  so 
live,  and  show  to  the.  world  that  although  a  sinner,  lam 
not  a  traitor,  and  although  I  have  been  immoral  I  am  not  lost." 

While  all  these  things  were  transpiring  in  and  around 
Norfolk,  the  great  heart  of  the  North  was  throbbing  with 
patriotic  emotion;  and  her  sons  in  every  section  thirsting  not 
for  revenge  or  blood,  but  for  the  salvation  of  that  Union 
under  which  their  fathers  had  lived  so  happily  and  achieved 
so  much.  Every  device  and  every  scheme  which  an  inven- 
tive Yankee  could  discover,  with  which  to  match  the  genius 
of  the  finished  Southern,  was  brought  into  requisition.  But 
among  them  all  there  was  one  man  living  in  New  York  whose 
name  will  go  down  to  posterity  along  with  the  few  undying 
ones  that  figured  in  the  historj^  of  the  times,  and  that  was 
John  Ericsson.  For  months  he  had  quietly  been  engaged  in 
building  an  odd  looking  sort  of  a  boat,  at  which  every  body 
who  saw  it  laughed  or  sneered. 

"  It  will  sink  to  the  bottom,"  said  one.  "  It  will  never 
leave  the  harbor,"  said  another.  "  Its  a  stupendous  failure, 
if  anything  so  insignificant  can  be  called  stupendous,"  said 
a  third.  But  old  John  worked  on,  and  when  it  was  finished 
he  called  it  the  "Monitor." 

A  few  days  after  the   fijst  of  March  the   vessel,  derisively 


TOM  BUBTOy.  205 

called,  the  "  Cheese  Box,"  from  the  shape  of  its  turret, 
sailed     awaj'    for  Fortress  Monroe. 

On  the  night  of  the  8th  as  the  victorious  "  Merrimac  " 
steamed  gayly  up  the  river  to  rest  on  her  laurels  for  the  day, 
the  '•  Monitor,"  hardly  visible  above  the  waves,  crept  slowly  by 
the  batteries  and  redoubts  of  the  old  fort  and  anchored  in  the 
roads,  behind  the  disabled  "Minnesota."  Little  hope  did  this 
strange  craft  infuse  into  the  hearts  of  those  who  that  day  had 
seen  the  huge  leviathan  of  the  seas  come  down  from  Xorfolk, 
careering  on  her  mission  of  blood  and  destruction,  as  unaffect- 
ed by  the  heaviest  shot  and  shell  as  the  roof  of  a  house  by  the 
rain  of  ordinary  hailstones,  and  that  was  only  waiting  for 
the  morrow  to  come  back,  finish  her  work  of  destruction  in 
the  roads,  and  then  lay  tribute  to  or  destroy  every  seaboard 
city  of  the  North. 

The  day  came  and  so  did  the  "Merrimac,"  steering 
straight  for  the  "  Minnesota.'^  Thousands  of  eyes  were  upon 
her.  Thousands  of  hearts  were  quaking  with  fear.  Would 
the  little,  low  oddity  sent  down  there  by  John  Ericsson  dare 
to  meet  her  ? 

All  the  shore  was  lined  with  anxious  spectators.  The 
walls  of  the  fortress,  the  rigging  of  the  ships,  the  buildings 
of  Hampton  (those  that  remained),  were  black  with  human 
beings. 

A  shout  that  made  the  welkin  ring  went  up  when,  gliding 
out  from  behind  the  stranded  battle  ship,  the  thing  they 
had  called  the  "  Cheese  Box  "  was  seen  to  go  forth  with  its 
single  gun  to  meet  the  Goliath  of  the  South,  and  the  fight 
began. 

The  great  historic  harbor  which  had  seen  the  weary 
pioneers  of  civilization  come  sailing  through  its  ample  gate- 
way long  years  before  ;  the  welcome  transports  bringing 
provisions  and  sympath}^  from  their  distant  home  across  the 
seas  ;  the  hostile  fleets  of  Britain,  and  the  timely  argosies  of 
DeGrasse  and  Rochambeau  in  the  days  of  the  great  Revolu- 
tion ;  and  the  late  events  of  the  war  of  1812,  was  this  day 
to  witness  a  naval  contest  which  in  its  awful  splendor  should 
put  to  blush  the  daring  deeds  of  Paul  Jones,  and  sink  into 
comparative  nothingness  the  world-renowned  achievements 
of  the  gallant  Xelson. 

Finding  nothing  to  shoot  at,  the  commander  of  the  "  Mer- 
rimac" assayed  to  run  down  his  insignificant  adversary  ;  but 
the  alertness  of  the  "  Monitor"  and  the  clumsiness  of  the 
former  prevented  the  consummation  of  that  object,  and  con- 
vinced the  Confederate  that  he  had  crossed  swords  with  a  foe 
that  was  worthy  of  his  steel. 


206  TOM  BURTON. 

From  early  in  the  morning  nntil  the  afternoon  "began  io 
wane,  did  those  Titans  grapple  in  deadly  conflict,  sometimes 
crashing  together,  at  others  hroadside  to  broadside  with 
cannon-mouths  almost  touching,  pouring  forth  the  deafening 
thunder  of  their  artillery,  veiled  in  sulphureous  flame,  and 
reeling  like  drunken  men  under  the  terrific  force  of  the  blows 
received  from  the  heavy  ordnance  they  carried. 

And  so  they  fought  on  until  the  pride  of  the  Confederacy 
balked,  battered,  and  disabled,  backed  out  of  the  fight  and 
steamed  away  to  her  anchorage,  leaving  the  roads  in  posses- 
sion of  the  little  "Moniter"  the  fleet  at  the  Fortress  unmo- 
lested, and  the  country  once  more  hopeful. 

All  that  day  Claude  sat  in  his  room  and  listened  to  the 
jar  of  the  great  guns ;  but  they  awoke  no  enthusiasm 
in  his  breast.  Sickness,  regret,  and  a  sense  of  lost  pride 
and  injured  honor  made  every  thing  appear  to  him  in  a  dis- 
torted and  sickly  light,  and  in  his  weak  condition  Ambition 
found  no  fuel  to  feed  on,  and  Hope  no  resting-place  for  the 
sole  of  her  feet. 


CHAPTEE  XXIX. 

THE  ARREST  AND  TRIAL. 

The  defeat  of  the  "  Merrimac  "  brought  dismay  upon  the 
people  of  Norfolk.  It  was  to  this  part  of  the  country  a 
Waterloo.  They  had  predicated  a  large  amount  of  hope  on 
their  pet  scheme  which  now  gave  way  to  chagrin. 

Naturally  they  laid  the  coincidence  of  the  "  Monitor's  "  in- 
opportune appearance,  on  the  day  after  the  sailing  of  the 
''  Merrimac,"  to  the  work  of  traitors,  and  the  spirit  of  revenge 
was  aroused  afresh  against  Miss  Buttercup  and  her  ac- 
complice. 

To  make  matters  still  worse  for  Claude,  this  execrable 
woman,  under  promise  of  condonement,  had  accused  him  of 
being  particeps  criminis  with  herself,  and  under  pretence 
of  turning  State's  evidence,  and  incriminating  him,  had 
made  a  false  confession  which  set  the  whole  town  at  his 
heels  like  a  pack  of  hungry  wolves. 

Negro  slaves  were  not  more  impeccable  than  their  white 
masters,  and  being  by  nature  watchful  and  communicative, 
were  valuable  as  spies,  and  treacherous  as  friends. 


TOM  BURTON.  UU7 

When  it  was  thoroughly  known  that  it  was  Caj^tain  Chiude 
AValsingliam  who  was  wanted,  it  did  not  require  more  than 
ten  dollars  in  Confederate  money  to  discover  his  hiding 
place.  Xor  could  any  vigilance  on  the  part  of  his  two 
female  friends  at  the  hospital  prevent  it. 

On  the  verj'-  morning  succeeding  that  on  which  was  fought 
the  great  battle  of  the  iron-clads,  an  orderlj'  accompanied  by 
four  soldiers  with  muskets,  waited  on  the  Sister  Superior 
of  St.  Vincent's,  and  asked  the  privilege  of  searching  the 
premises. 

'^  It  is  a  downright  outrage,  and  I  protest  against  such  a 
desecration,"  replied  Sister  Matilda.  "  If  you  have  no  re- 
spect for  the  institution  and  the  Sisters,  I  should  think  you 
would  for  the  sick,"  she  continued. 

"  War,  madam,  has  no  respect  for  the  sick,  nor  for  institu- 
tions. I  am  sent  here  to  search  among  your  patients  for 
Claude  Walsingham,  and  if  we  find  him  and  he  is  able  to  go 
with  me,  to  take  him ;  or  if  he  is  too  ill  to  be  removed,  to 
leave  a  guard  at  his  room  door. 

"  Claude  Walsingham  ?  "  repeated  the  Sister  Superior,  "  I 
know  of  no  one  here  by  that  name.  We  have  no  such  per- 
son." 

"  We  shall  be  better  satisfied  after  we  have  looked  through 
the  building,"  replied  the  orderly,  determined  not  to  be  put 
off. 

"Then  you'll  have  to  proceed,  as  you  are  determined  to  do 
so,  whether  with  or  without  my  consent." 

"  We  are  sorry,  madam,  to  have  to  displease  you,  but,  we 
know  our  duty,  and  however  unpleasant  the  job,  we  have  no 
choice  but  to  obey  orders.  Will  3'ou  guide  us  through,  or 
shall  we  go  our  own  way  ?  " 

One  of  the  sisters  was  called  to  show  them  through  the 
building. 

They  had  not  proceeded  far  when  the  Little  Sister  became 
cognizant  of  their  presence  in  the  hospital.  She  ran  to  the 
Sister  Superior  in  breathless  agitation  : 

''Who  are  they  looking  for.  Sister  Matilda  ?" 

"  Your  patient,  I  presume,  as  he  is  the  only  soldier  in  the 
hospital,  at  this  time."     She  flew  to  Sister  Irene. 

"  What  shall  we  do.  Tliere  are  soldiers  in  the  house,  and 
they  are  looking  for  Claude.  How  can  we  manage  to  keep 
them  away  from  liis  room  ?  " 

''  That  is  impossible  now.  They  will  take  no  excuse.  We 
shall  have  to  allow  things  to  take  their  natural  course." 

"  But  he  is  not  guilty,  and  must  not  suffer.  Besides  he  is 
not  strong  enough  yet  to  be  removed." 


208  TOM  BURTON. 

"  I  fear  there  is  no  way  to  prevent  his  removal.  The  only 
thing  we  can  do  is  to  look  after  him  wherever  they  take  him, 
and  defend  him  as  best  we  can.  They  are  already  going  to 
his  room,  I  hear  their  footsteps  in  that  direction." 

"But  they  may  shoot  him,  before  we  can  do  any  thing," 
pleaded  the  Little  Sister  beginning  to  cry. 

"  Perhaps  not  at  once,  certainly  not  without  a  trial." 

"  And  that  awful  woman  will  lie  about  him,  and  he  will 
be  ruined,"  and  the  Little  Sister  wrung  her  white  hands  in 
an  agony  of  perplexity,  and  helplessness. 

"  Have  faith  in  God,  my  little  friend.  Be  assured  that 
justice  will  prevail,"  said  Sister  Irene  soothingly,  putting  her 
arms  about  the  other's  neck. 

"  I  have  had  faith  in  God,  Sister  Irene,  from  my  earliest 
childhood,  and  it  has  led  me  through  martyrdoms,  innumer- 
able. Alas  !  I  am  almost  without  hope.  Come,  let  us  hurry 
down,  and  see  what  they  are  doing  with  him." 

As  they  descended  toward  the  lower  hall,  they  heard  heavy 
footsteps  coming  down  the  corridor  of  the  third  floor,  and 
hurrying  forward  they  reached  the  lower  floor  ahead  of  the 
soldiers,  whom  they  saw  following  them,  with  Claude  between 
two  of  their  number  heavily  ironed  about  the  wrists. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  the  two  sisters  stepped  aside  to 
give  room  for  them  to  pass.  As  Claude  caught  sight  of  his 
two  faithful  nurses,  his  face  beamed  with  a  bright  and  benign 
smile  of  recognition.  The  Little  Sister  as  usual  began  to 
weep,  but  her  tears  did  not  blind  her.  She  saw  the  hard 
manacles  already  cutting  into  his  tender  flesh.  Her  sympa- 
thetic heart  was  touched  by  the  sight.  She  sprang  forward 
in  front  of  the  orderly,  as  he  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"Will  you  please  take  off  the  hand-cuffs  ?  See,  they  press 
him  too  tightly,  and  cut  his  wrist.  Surely  there  is  no  need 
to  manacle  him.     He  is  very  weak,  and  cannot  run  away." 

"  But,  Miss " 

"  Do  you  imagine  for  a  moment,  he  can  escape  from  five 
strong  men.     Look  !  how  pale  and  trembling  he  is — 

"  I  will  not  permit  any  dictation  in  this  matter.  Please 
stand  aside." 

"  You  are  an  unfeeling  wretch,  and  I  will  not  stir  until 
you  release  him." 

"  Then,  I  shall  have  to  remove  you,"  said  the  sergeant, 
roughly. 

"  You  are  not  a  Confederate  soldier,  to  dare  to  put  your 
hand  upon  a  Sister  of  Charity.  I  do  not  wish  to  interfere 
with  your  duty  ;  I  only  plead  in  the   interest  of  humanity. 


TOM  BURTON.  209 

If  you  will  take  off  those  heavy  irons,  I  will  go  all  the  way 
with  you,  and  be  myself  responsible  for  his  safe  deliverance, 
if  3"0U  have  any  fear  that  he  will  escape." 

"  Stand  aside,  woman,  I  say,"  and  as  the  Sergeant  spoke 
he  put  up  his  hand  and  pushed  the  girl  aside,  rudely,  dislodg- 
ing her  cornet. 

"  For  shame  !"  cried  the  nuns,  as  the  Little  Sister  stag- 
gered backward,  Losing  the  covering  for  her  head,  her  great 
volume  of  hair  rolled  down  upon  her  shoulders,  almost  en- 
veloping her  in  its  ample  flood. 

Claude,  burning  with  indignation,  would  have  struck  down 
the  brutal  offender  if  he  could,  but  he  was  powerless.  As 
they  ledh  im  hy  he  cast  a  long  parting  glance  at  the  distressed 
girl,  and  as  if  struck  with  some  sudden  vision,  he  cried 
out  in  a  loud  voice  : 

"  Hold  !  I  would  speak  with  her !  A  moment,  I  say  !  " 
But  they  hurried  him  on,  he  looking  over  his  shoulder  with 
an  indescribable  expression  on  his  face,  of  surprise  and  emo- 
tion. At  the  provost-marshal's  office  he  was  asked  his 
name,  age,  and  place  of  birth,  and  whether  he  had  anything 
to  say  ;  or  if  he  knew  Miss  Buttercup,  or  anything  in  rela- 
tion to  the  crime  charged  against  him,  which  they  told  him 
was  treason. 

He  told  them  he  was  not  guilty.  That  he  thought  he  had 
known  Miss  Buttercup,  but  could  connect  nothing  concern- 
ing her,  and  the  crime  with  himself  in  his  association  with 
her,  which  yet  seemed  like  the  remembrance  of  some  unpleas- 
ant dream. 

From  thence  he  was  taken  to  the  city  jail,  and  placed  in  a 
cell.  In  pity  for  his  delicate  appearance,  they  gave  him  a 
bed  of  straw,  placed  on  the  floor,  and  a  diet  better  in  quality 
than  was  furnished  the  other  prisoners. 

In  a  sort  of  half  insane  condition  he  submitted  without  a 
murmur  to  his  fate,  sleeping  much  and  gradually  gaining 
strength.  In  this  way  he  spent  the  first  ten  days  of  his  in- 
carceration previous  to  his  trial,  which  was  now  at  hand. 

A  special  general  court-martial  was  called  to  sit  upon  his 
case,  and  was  composed  of  three  colonels  and  four  captains, 
with  the  lieutenant-general  as  Judge- Advocate. 

The  session  was  held  in  a  room  of  the  custom-house  in  the 
lower  part  of  the  town.  The  court  was  an  intelligent  bod}' 
of  military  gentlemen  taken  from  Alabama,  Georgia,  and 
Virginia  regiments.  Claude  was  allowed  counsel,  but  elected 
to  proceed  to  trial  without  any. 

He  appeared  before  the  court  very  much  improved  in 
health. 


210  TOM  BURTON. 

His  beard  had  long  been  neglected,  and  was  long  and 
auburn  in  color  ;  and  although  he  looked  much  older  and 
sadder  than  before  his  illness,  he  was  still  a  handsome  man, 
and  with  the  effects  of  strong,  drink  thoroughly  eradicated 
from  his  system,  looked  every  inch  a  gentleman. 

His  memory  having  returned  to  almost  its  normal  condi- 
tion, he  related  as  succinctly  as  possible  the  history  of  his 
life  from  the  time  of  his  leaving  the  Eastern  Shore,  to  the  day 
of  his  entrance  into  the  hospital,  without  referring  to  events 
which  transpired  during  fits  of  intoxication,  of  which  he 
knew  nothing  ;  disclaiming  all  knowledge  of  being  in  any 
respect  or  manner  concerned  in  any  act  or  conspiracy  which 
might  be  construed  as  implicating  him  in  any  treasonable 
intent  whether  of  thought,  word  or  deed. 

His  manner  was  calm,  dignified  and  truthful,  and  made  a 
deep  impression  on  his  hearers.  After  which  the  trial 
began. 

The  only  witnesses  were  Miss  Buttercup  and  the  inter- 
cepted negro. 

A  letter  was  also  produced  in  evidence  which  was  found  in 
possession  of  the  latter  when  arrested,  directed  to  Miss  But- 
tercup, and  signed  by  an  anonymous  writer,  dated  from  Fort- 
ress Monroe,  in  the  month  of  Februarj'  last,  and  acknowledg- 
ing the  receipt  of  another,  sent  from  Norfolk  about  the  same 
time. 

The  negro  after  being  instructed  as  to  the  nature  of  an 
oath,  and  the  penalty  of  its  violation,  testified  that  he  at  the 
instigation  of  the  lady,  took  a  letter  to  General  Wool,  at 
Fortress  Monroe,  the  contents  of  which  he  did  not  know,  and 
was  on  his  way  back  when  intercepted  with  the  note  in  re- 
ply, which  had  been  produced  in  court.  That  the  prisoner 
was  present  when  Miss  Buttercup's  missive  was  handed  him, 
and  must  have  been  aware  of  its  destination.  The  latter  was 
not  evidence  but  a  clear  and  indubitable  inference. 

Miss  Buttercup  was  next  put  upon  the  witness  stand.  She 
appeared  with  all  the  indifference  of  a  disinterested  person, 
and  testified  with  as  much  san(/  froid  as  if  she  had  never 
seen  the  prisoner  before,  or  ever  been  in  the  least  manner 
upon  terms  of  any  intimacy  with  him  whatever. 

"Do  you  recognize  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  ?"  asked  the 
Judge- Advocate  ;  after  she  had  been  interrogated  as  to  her 
name,  residence,  age,  etc. 

"  I  do." 

"  How  long  have  you  known  him  ?  '^ 

"  About  four  months." 


Tom  BUBTcm.  211 

'*  How  were  you  first  brought  into  contact  with  him  ?  " 

"  He  first  came  with  other  gentlemen  to  my  soiree  at  my 
house,  sir." 

"  Was  he  a  frequent  visitor  to  3'our  house  ?  " 

"  After  his  first  visit  he  came  frequently." 

''  What  were  jonv  relations  with  him  ?  " 

The  witness  hesitated. 

"  You  are  at  liberty  to  answer  the  question  or  not,  as  you 
like." 

"Well,  sir,  I  should  say  very  friendl3\" 

"  Will  you  please  state  to  the  court  what  happened  at  your 
house  on  or  about  the  8th  of  February  last  ?  " 

"  Captain  Walsingham  was  at  my  house  on  or  about  that 
day,  and  I  requested  him  to  obtain  some  information  for 
me." 

"  What  was  that  information  ?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  know  when  the  "Virginia"  would  be  ready  to 
sail." 

"Did  he  serve  you  in  that  respect  ?  " 

"  He  did.  He  saw  the  authorities — that  is — he  said  so — and 
he  came  back  and  told  me  she  would  be  ready  by  the  8th 
of  March." 

"  Did  he  know  for  what  purpose  you  desired  the  informa- 
tion ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  He  asked  me  why  I  wished  to  know  when  the  "Virginia" 
would  be  finished." 

"  What  was  your  reply  ?  " 

"  That  I  had  lost  faith  in  the  Confederacy,  anyhow,  and  I 
wished  to  communicate  with  the  Federals  at  Fortress  Mon- 
roe." 

"What  caused  you  to  lose  faith  in  the  cause  of  the  Con- 
federacy ?  " 

"  I  had  come  to  that  conclusion  by  observation,  sir." 

"  Are  you  still  of  that  opinion  ?  " 

"  I  decline  to  answer." 

"  So  you  told  Captain  Walsingham  that  you  were  going  to 
tell  them  at  Fortress  Monroe  when  the  Virginia  would  go 
into  active  service  ?  " 

«I  did,  sir." 

"Please  state  what  the  prisoner  said  to  this." 

"  At  first  he  pretended  to  be  shocked,  but  afterwards  said 
he  would  aid  me,  and  that  we  both  would  be  made  rich  when 
the  war  ended  5  and  then  we  could  both  go  to  Europe." 


212  TOM  BUBTON, 

Claude,  witK  a  face  unmoved  by  emotion,  looked  straight 
into  the  eyes  of  the  woman,  who  bore  his  searching  glance 
with  the  assurance  of  one  whose  conscience  was  as  clean  as 
the  driven  snow. 

"  Do  you  know  how  he  obtained  that  information  ?  " 

"  I  do  not,  sir." 

"What  followed  after  that  ?  " 

"Then  he  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  at  my  dictation." 

"  To  whom  was  the  letter  addressed  ?  " 

"  To  General  John  E.  Wool." 

"  Well,  will  you  please  state  what  was  done  with  the 
letter  ?  " 

"  We  gave  it  to  this  colored  man." 

"And  what  did  you  tell  him  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  We  told  him  to  take  it  to  Fortress  Monroe." 

AVhen  Miss  Buttercup  was  asked  to  take  her  seat,  the 
solemn  countenances  of  the  judges  told  but  too  plainly  how 
unpleasant  was  the  task  which  lay  before  them.  Most  of 
them  had  known  Claude  before  his  fall,  and  had  hoped  that 
no  case  would  be  made  out  against  him.  But  the  evidence 
was  so  positive  and  direct  that,  without  some  rebutting  tes- 
timony, his  doom  was  already  sealed. 

The  Judge- Advocate  asked  him  what  he  had  to  say  by  way 
of  contradiction  to  the  evidence  which  had  been  given. 

His  only  reply  was  :     "  I  am  not  guilty." 

"Then  you  mean  to  say  that  these  witnesses  have  lied?" 

"'  In  part,  sir,  they  have." 

"  Were  you  not  a  frequent  visitor  at  this  woman's  house  ? 
Were  you  not  closeted  with  her  every  day  ?  Were  you  not 
at  her  house  on  the  very  day  in  question  ?  " 

"  I  must  admit  I  was,  sir." 

"  What  part  of  her  testimony  is  false,  then  ?  " 

"  As  God  is  my  judge,  sir,  I  know  nothing  of  that  letter 
or  its  contents." 

"  Did  you  not  give  her  the  information  she  speaks  of  ?  " 

"  Of  that,  sir,  I  have  no  recollection." 

There  was  a  dead  and  painful  silence.  Then  tlie  members 
of  the  court-martial  put  their  heads  together  and  conversed 
in  a  low  tone  of  voice. 

Claude  saw  by  the  pallor  of  their  faces  and  their  averted 
eyes  what  the  verdict  would  be. 

The  Judge-Advocate  told  him  to  rise.     He  did  so. 

"  Claude  Walsingham,  we  find  you  guilty  of  the  crime  of 
treason,  as  set  forth  in  the  several  counts  and  specifications 
of  the  charge  filed  against  you,  and  in  deference  to  your  posi- 


TOyi  BUnTON.  213 

tion  in  the  army  and  standing  in  societj-,  have  decreed  tliat 
you  be  taken  from  this  room  to  the  city  jail,  and  there  kept 
in  close  confinement  until  the  10th  day  of  May  next,  from 
which  place  you  will  be  taken  to  some  point  outside  of  the 
city  limits,  between  the  hours  of  eight  and  nine  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  be  shot  to  death,  and  may  God  have  mercy  on  your 
soul." 

Claude  heard  the  sentence  with  the  same  stoical  indiffer- 
ence he  had  maintained  throughout  the  trial,  and  submitted 
without  a  tremor  to  the  shackles  that  bound  his  pale  hands. 
He  neither  looked  to  the  right  nor  left,  but  passed  down  the 
steps  of  the  custom-house  through  a  gaping  crowd,  with  an 
armed  soldier  on  either  side  of  him,  while  Miss  Buttercup, 
with  a  nonchalant  toss  of  her  head,  tried  to  appear  uncon- 
cerned as  she  swung  herself  out  of  the  court-room. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

REMORSE. 

The  old  city  prison  of  Norfolk  stands  on  the  corner  of 
Cone  Street  and  Court  House  Square.  It  is  an  ordinary- 
building,  composed  of  brick,  with  adobe  walls,  turteted  above 
the  eaves  after  the  style  of  the  middle  ages,  and  long,  nar- 
row windows,  heavily  grated,  but  without  panes  of  any  sort 
— mere  apertures  for  the  transmission  of  light  as  well  as 
ventilation. 

The  cells  within,  constantly  filled  with  the  refuse  of  the 
negro  population,  are  filthy  in  the  extreme,  dark  and 
noisome. 

Claude's  was  situated  on  the  second  floor  in  the  north- 
west corner,  near  the  landing  of  the  main  stairway,  and  the 
first  of  a  tier  stretching  along  on  the  Cove  Street  side.  It 
was  a  dismal  place,  with  a  straw  bed  on  the  floor,  a  ricketty 
table  a  foot  square,  an  earthen  pitcher  with  a  broken  and 
ragged  brim,  and  a  single  Windsor  chair.  From  this  miser- 
able place  the  once  gay  and  happy  young  man,  full  of  am- 
bition and  patriotism,  would  go  forth  to  die.  What  a  mercy 
had  he  gone  in  the  delirium  of  fever  before  awaking  to  the 
awful  revelation  of  his  infamy  ! 

For  the  first  two  or  three  days    which  passed  after  his  sen- 


L^U  TOM  BURTON. 

tence,  lie  neither  thought  nor  talked,  but  eat  and  slept  as  me- 
chanically as  a  machine,  or  as  an  animal  for  the  slaughter. 

But  as  his  physical  condition  began  to  improve,  his  men- 
tal faculties  became  more  active,  and  the  struggle  began. 

All  without  was  bright  and  glorious  sunshine.  The  spring 
was  bursting  into  an  effulgence  which  inspired  even  the 
most  inanimate  things  of  nature  with  a  new  existence. 
The  blood  of  poor  Claude  began  to  flow  warmly  through 
his  veins_,  and  his  heart  to  throb  in  unison  with  the  pulsa- 
tions of  the  great  world  around  him.  But  in  his  gloomy  cell, 
all  was  damp,  dark  and  filthy. 

It  was  natural  enough  for  him  to  ask  himself  the  question  : 
"  What  brought  me  here  ?  "  and  dwelling  for  days  and  days 
on  this  one  theme,  he  settled  down  at  last  to  this  conclusion  : 
"I  now  see,  I  have  been  all  wrong.  I  started  out  wrong.  I 
am  punished,  not  only  because  I  have  done  wrong  myself, 
individually,  but  because    my  fathers  were  wrong  before  me. 

"From  my  very  cradle  I  have  had  erroneous  ideas  of  life.  I 
had  thought  the  chief  end  of  man  to  be  luxury  in  the  first 
place,  ambition  in  the  second  place,  and  prejudices  of  all 
kinds  in  the  third  place.  That  to  be  born  of  certain  parent- 
age, reared  in  affluence,  and  belong  to  the  aristocracy,  made 
a  man  better  than  his  fellows  whose  beginnings  were  less 
pretentious,  and  whose  lots  were  cast  in  humbler  circum- 
stances. 

"  I  did  not  dream  in  the  happy  days  gone  by  I  should  ever 
come  to  this. 

"  The  Burtons  might,  I  thought,  and  so  might  the  Masons  ; 
but  a  Walsingham,  never. 

"  Thus  was  I  led  to  despise  that  sweet  creature  who  bore 
the  hated  name,  whose  debtor  I  have  so  often  been,  and  now 
must  ever  be. 

"  I  now  see,  clearly,  I  never  loved  Kate  Moore  at  all.  If  I 
had,  I  should  never  have  yielded  to  that  bad  woman  as  I 
did — she  who  has  been  my  ruin.  No  man  who  truly  loves, 
and  is  conscious  of  it,  will  ever  wrong  the  object  of  his  affec- 
tions by  debasing  himself;  for  love  is  the  soul  of  honor. 

"As  I  now  realize  that  morality  is  not  religion,  so  now  I  see 
that  respect  alone  is  not  sufficient  to  keep  a  man  true  to  his 
vows.  Unless  the  heart  go  with  the  head,  the  tie  is  only 
a  rope  of  sand. 

"  If  I  had  only  my  life  to  go  over  again,  how  different 
would  I  act. 

"  If  I  were  only  free  this  day  I  would  go  to  Kate  Moore  and 
tell  her  I  had  wronged  her,  that  I  never  knew  what  it  was 


TOM  BURTON.  215 

to  love  her  as  I  ought,  and  then  I  would  give  my  patri- 
mony— now  all  gone  to  the  winds  ;  I  would  give  all  that  once 
attached  to  my  name — now  and  henceforth  to  be  infamous ;  I 
would  surrender  my  pride — now  humbled  in  the  dust — any 
thing,  every  thing  would  I  give  up  for  that  one  poor  child, 
who  was  as  devoted  to  me  as  a  guardian  angel ;  and  facing  a 
frowning  world,  go  hand  and  hand  with  her  along  earth's 
lowliest  path,  a  contented  and  happy  man. 

"Though  finely  educated,  and  surrounded  by  glittering 
conventionalities,  I  was  never  taught  the  value  of  truth  ;  not 
that  I  or  my  father  was  given  to  lying ;  but  I  was  never 
taught  to  correctly  interpret  truth.  I  simply  believed  what 
my  ancestors  had  believed  before  me  ;  and  what  was  worse,  I 
held  in  contempt  all  others  who  dared  to  differ  with  me.  I 
grew  up  to  believe  that  God  made  me  better  than  he  did 
others — out  of  finer  clay — and  that  he  created  others  for  no 
other  purpose  but  to  serve  me ;  when  I  ought  to  have  been 
taught  that  a  clean  body,  a  pure  heart,  and  a  bright  intellect 
made  the  man. 

"  I  despised  the  Abolitionists,  I  persecuted  the  preachers,  I 
hated  the  poor,  I  loved  slavery.  God  is  now  calling  me  to 
an  account  for  it  all."  And  then  he  bowed  his  head  and 
continued  : 

''  But  worst  of  all,  I  learned  to  hate  my  country,  and  to 
curse  its  flag.  Many  a  time  when  a  boy,  traveling  with  my 
father,  e7i  route  to  this  very  city,  by  the  way  of  Fortress 
Monroe,  have  I  heard  him  blaspheme  the  stars  and  stripes 
floating  over  the  battery,  and  damn  the  soldier  guard  on 
duty  at  the  government  wharf. 

"  Why,  oh,  why,  after  living  under  the  protection  of  that 
flag  so  long  secure  in  life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happi- 
ness, did  I  ever  raise  my  puny  arm  against  it  ? 

''To  whom  but  God  and  my  country  do  I  owe  all  the 
briglit  days  of  my  youth  ;  and  to  whom  but  the  devil  and 
rebellion  do  I  owe  all  my  present  misery  ?  " 

"  And  what  are  we  fighti.ig  for  ?  To  perpetuate  slavery,  to 
establish  the  right  to  dismember  the  Union,  to  set  up  a 
Cotton  States  oligarchy  with  which  the  State  of  Virginia 
never  has  had,  nor  can  never  have  but  one  single  interest  of 
commerce  or  feeling,  and  that  the  brotherhood  of  slavery. 

'•  Oh,  height  of  folly  !  Oh,  worse  than  treason  !  They  may 
call  me  a  renegade,  a  poltroon  or  what  not.  I  know  I  am 
innocent  of  crime,  but  as  I  am  about  to  die,  my  better 
reason,  now  free  from  all  passion  and  prejudice,  tells  me  I 
have  erred,  and  calls  upon  me  to  repent ;  and  so  clear  has 


216  TOM  BURTON, 

the  light  of  truth  fallen  upon  my  once  benighted  mind, 
that  I  had  rather  be  a  Burton,  despised  and  ostracised,  than 
a  Walsingham  rich  and  respected,  simply  because  I  was  an 
aristocrat  and  a  Bourbon. 

"  But  all  these  thoughts  I  might  as  well  bury  forever  in  the 
deepest  recesses  of  my  heart. 

"  If  I  confessed  to  such  views  as  these,  it  would  only  add  to 
the  suspicions  of  my  guilt.  They  would  say  :  '  That  proves 
that  he  is  a  traitor.  That  shows  him  up  in  his  true  light — a 
faithless  renegade  ! ' 

'^  Oh,  oh,  oh,  to  be  in  this  dreadful  fix  !  Apparently  false 
to  my  kind  and  kindred,  false  to  my  vows  of  courtship,  false 
to  my  oath  of  fealty,  while  I  know  as  truly  as  I  live,  that 
in  all  that  made  me  a  characteristic  member  of  my  family, 
in  all  that  led  me  to  promise  to  wed  Kate  Moore,  and  in  all 
that  made  me  a  Confederate  soldier,  I  was  wrong,  wrong,  a 
thousand  times  wrong  !  Living  or  dying,  what  is  my  duty — 
the  duty  of  an  honest  man — but  to  repent,  repent,  repent ; 
and  right  down  here  will  I  fall  upon  my  bended  knees,  and 
never  rise  until  God  for  Jesus'  sake  has  made  me  a  new 
and  better  man." 

All  night  long  in  his  loathsome  cell,  while  the  vile  drunken 
wretches  convicted  of  petty  crimes,  caroused  and  raved  on  the 
floor  below,  did  poor  Claude  wrestle  in  prayer,  like  Jacob  of 
old  with  the  angel. 

No  longer  crowned  with  the  curly  locks  of  Jove,  and  glory- 
ing in  the  strength  of  a  perfect  manhood,  wdth  a  haughty 
step  and  head  erect,  disdaining  the  ground  he  walked  upon  ; 
but  weak  in  body,  broken  in  mind,  and  crushed  in  Si3irit,  he 
crawled  in  the  dirt  and  mire  of  his  prison  pen,  calling  upon 
God  to  pity  and  have  mercy  upon  his  poor  soul. 

Oh,  that  night  of  mortal  agony  !  As  he  lay  there  prostrate, 
writhing,  beating  his  body  with  his  clenched  fists,  how  his 
whole  life  came  up  scene  by  scene  before  him  ;  and  every 
time  he  passed  upon  some  important  epoch  in  his  career  he 
would  reiterate : 

"  All  wrong,  all  wrong  !  " 

His  bloodshot  eyes,  his  black  and  soiled  apparel,  looking  like 
a  reaper's  in  the  harvest-field,  made  so  by  perspiration 
and  the  filthy  condition  of  his  cell,  his  crouching,  contorted 
attitude  gave  him  the  appearance  of  one  possessed.  But  still 
he  knew  no  peace,  could  find  no  rest  for  his  soul.  Praying 
did  not  satisfy.  To  appease  a  violated  nature,  or  an  angry 
God,  requires  restitution.  Eaith  never  yet  saved  a  human 
being,  who,  having  it  in  his  power  to  make  amends,  failed  to 
do  it. 


TOM  BunroN.  217 

Claude  Walsingham  had  done  much  harm  iu  the  vvuild. 
AVhat  good  to  the  world  would  be  his  repentance,  his  agony, 
his  remorse  ?  Its  influence  could  not  go  outside  his  prison 
walls.  It  ^vould  not  even  sweeten  the  damp  odors  of  the 
abominable  cell,  in  which,  like  a  demon  of  the  tombs,  he 
wrestled  with  despair  and  remorse.  Poor  Claude  had  nothing 
he  could  call  his  own. 

^  He  could  not  promise  a  future  in  which  to  put  into  prac- 
tical living  his  new  resolves,  for  his  days  were  numbered,  and 
w'ould  soon  be  at  an  end.  He  would  never  see  either  Miss 
Moore  or  Miss  Burton  again,  to  plead  with  them  for  condone- 
ment  of  his  sins  of  commission,  as  to  one,  and  his  sins  of  omis- 
sion, as  to  the  other.'  He  could  never  have  the  opportunity 
to  offer  his  services  to  his  outraged  countrj^,  to  repay  the  in- 
jury his  influence  had  wrought.  Alas  !  he  knew  not  what  to 
do.  While  thus  oppressed,  a  feeling  of  great  humility  came 
over  him.  He  felt  more  debased  than  a  w^orm  of  the  dust. 
He  ransacked  his  brain  for  a  comparison — an  example  for 
emulation. 

He  thought  of  his  old  slave,  Jim,  who  used  to  attend  him 
in  boyhood,  who  kept  his  horse,  hunted  and  fished  with  him, 
serving  him  faithfully  day  and  night,  carrying  him  on  his 
back,  watching  over  him  by  the  camj^-fire,  blacking  his  boots 
and  dressing  him  as  though  he  were  a  child,  and  through 
rough  usage  and  good  usage,  always  the  same.  The  old  man 
had  never  in  all  his  life  uttered  one  complaining  word,  though 
kicked  and  cuffed  and  sometimes  lashed  at  the  whim  of  an 
irrascible  master. 

He  thought  of  his  setter  dog— how,  w^hen  vexed  and  out  of 
humor,  he  had  beaten  him  almost  to  death,  the  brute  would 
crawl  to  his  feet  and  lick  his  boots  as  if  the  pleasures  of  hu- 
mility exceeded  the  pain  of  the  blows  ;  and  he  was  willing  to 
be  negro  or  dog— anything  so  that  God  w^ould  only  let  him 
get  close  to  him  and  acknowledge  him  as  His  child. 

But  still  though  somewhat  more  at  ease,  there  came  not 
the  desired  blessing.  At  last  he  thought,  '•'  I  will  write  out  my 
confession  and  the  world  shall  thus  know  of  my  repentance. 
1  will  say  to  my  outraged  country,  I  was  misled ;  to  Kate 
Moore  I  will  kneel  for  forgiveness  upon  the  plea  that  I  was 
mistaken  in  my  feelings  and  did  not  love  her  when  I  thought 
i  did ;  and  to  the  memory  of  Mary  Burton  the  tribute  of  a 
broken  heart  which,  were  she  living  and* I  at  liberty,  should  be 
hers,  though  the  brand  of  Abolitionism  were  stamped  upon 
my  cheek  with  a  red-hot  iron."  And  feeling  thus  his  heart 
grew  softer,  his  eyes  moist,  a  calm  like   that  which  succeeds 


218  'i'OM  BURTON. 

a  tempest  suffused  itself  through  all  his  being,  and  completely 
exhausted  and  overwhelmed  with  a  sense  of  utter  despair,  he 
crawled  to  his  humble  couch  and  lying  down,  sobbed  himself 
to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE    COMBAT    DEEPENS. 

The  first  of  May  had  arrived.  Glorious  month  of  ineffable 
sweetness  in  Virginia  ! 

But  why  dilate  upon  the  beauties  of  the  season  when  the 
black  cloud  of  war  hung  like  a  pall  over  all  the  fair  land  about 
which  w^e  write  ? 

Once  again  the  plains  of  Yorktown  drank  up  the  blood  of 
English-speaking  people.  Once  more  the  famous  cave  of 
Cornwallis  was  rehabilitated,  and  the  home  of  Nelson  became 
a  target  for  the  cannoneer.  Never  before  was  there  such  ac- 
tivity at  Fortress  Monroe.  Never  has  there  been  since  Gen- 
eral McClellan  was  projecting  his  fatal  "  On  to  Richmond," 
and  General  Wool  his  successful  descent  upon  Norfolk. 

With  such  stirring  events  almost  in  sight  of  him.  Colonel  Bur- 
ton could  not  remain  an  idle  spectator.  He  asked  and  received 
permission  to  advance  with  his  regiment  to  the  front.  It  was 
soon  noised  abroad  that  his  command  was  about  to  be  trans- 
ferred. So  considerate  had  he  been  in  his  administration  of 
military  affairs  on  the  Eastern  Shore — so  well  disciplined  his 
troops,  that  all  the  people  had  become  reconciled  to  the  return 
of  the  old  government,  and  expressed  general  and  widespread 
regret  at  his  intended  departure. 

Many  of  the  best  citizens  of  the  two  counties  called  upon 
him,  assuring  him  of  their  good  wishes,  and  invoking  his  in- 
fluence in  the  choice  of  his  successor. 

It  was  the  day  before  his  departure,  and  everything  was 
bustle  and  confusion  at  head-quarters. 

On  that  day  Colonel  Burton  received  the   following  note  : 

"  Colonel  Thomas  Burton, 

"  Commanding  Federal  Forces, 

"  Eastern  Shore  of  Virginia. 
"  Dear  Sir, 

"  Will  you  please  do  me  the  favor  to  call  before  leaving 


TOM  BURTON.  219 

the  Shore.     I  desire  the  pleasure    of   bidding   you    "  good- 
bye." 

"Respectfully  yours, 

"Kate  Moore." 

"Desires  the  pleasure  of  bidding  me  good-bye,  eh?  A 
rather  ambiguous  expression,  Miss  Kate.  However,  I  will 
gratify  you."     Snatching  up  a  pen,  he  replied  : 

"Miss  Kate  Moore, 
"  Dear  Miss, 

"  Your  note  of  this  morning  is  to  hand.  If  I  can  find 
time,  on  my  way  to  Cape  Charles,  I  shall  be  pleased  to  call 
to-morrow  as  I  pass  yoMX  gate  with  my  regiment,  which  will 
probably  be  about  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

"  Wishing  you  health  and  happiness, 

"  I  am  truly  yours, 
"Thomas  Burton." 

If  any  one  had  asked  Kate  Moore  what  her  object  was  in 
writing  this  note  to  the  man  she  had  so  often  treated  with 
the  coldest  indifference,  she  would,  in  all  probability,  have 
answered  with  even  less  perspicuity  than  she  wrote. 

But  from  the  time  that  she  heard  the  tap  of  the  drum,  and 
saw  the  glittering  bayonets  of  the  soldiers  as  they  filed  down 
the  old  highway,  till  the  handsome  form  of  the  Union  officer 
appeared,  galloping  up  the  lane  toward  the  house,  her  heart 
had  seemed  to  wake  up  from  its  long  slumber,  and  the  slug- 
gish tide  of  life  to  course  her  veins  as  in  the  bright  days  of 
yore,  ere  the  blight  of  misfortune  had  dried  up  its  fountains, 
as  she  had  thought,  forever. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you,  Colonel  Burton,  now  that  you  are 
going  to  leave  us,  to  tell  you  how  grateful  I  am  to  you  for 
all  the  favors  you  have  shown  me,  and  all  the  trouble  you 
have  been  put  to  on  my  account.  I  do  this  from  a  sense  of 
duty  I  cannot  well  put  aside.  You  are  going  to  the  front,  I 
hear,  and  as  I  may  never  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you 
again,  I  wanted  to  say  good-bye." 

Colonel  Burton  had  never  heard  her  speak  in  such  a 
natural,  familiar  tone  before.  For  once  there  was  no  irony 
or  bitterness. 

"  You  are  very  kind.  Miss  Kate,  to  give  me  this  oppor- 
tunity. I  had  determined,  at  our  last  interview,  not  to  see 
you  again." 

^^  Well;  I  have  learned.  Colon  ei  Burton,  to  be  less  cousist* 


220  TOM  BURTON. 

ent  than  I  used  to  be;  at  least,  what  I  used  to  call  consist- 
ency. I  suppose  you  would  call  it  prejudice.  In  other  words, 
I  have  at  last  accustomed  myself  to  put  up  with  vicissitudes. 
Indeed  I  have  become  reconciled  myself  to  what  you  call  pro- 
gress. When  one  can  not  have  things  one's  own  way,  one 
might  as  well  give  in  ;  so,  Colonel,  had  you  stayed  awa}^,  I 
should  begin  to  think  you  had  become  as  set  in  your  ways  as 
you  once  thought  I  was." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  from  jowx  own  lips  such  an  honest  con- 
fession. I  think,  in  such  a  frame  of  mind,  there  is  yet  hope 
for  a  happy  future.  Our  wealth  does  not  consist  so  much  in 
the  things  which  we  possess,  as  in  the  capacity  of  the  heart 
to  store  up  true  and  lasting  affection,  and  a  disposition  to 
make  the  best  of  everything.  Yes,  !Miss  Kate,  I  am  on  my 
way  to  the  front.  I  cannot  bear  this  inert  life  on  the  East- 
ern Shore,  with  little  to  hope  for  by  way  of  promotion,  and 
less  to  love." 

"  No  one.  Colonel,  can  appreciate  your  condition  more  than 
I.  I  have  thought  much  of  you  since  the  loss  of  your  dear 
sister,  knowing  that  she  was  the  last  of  your  family  except 
yourself.  Will  you  return  to  the  Eastern  Shore  after  the 
war  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  hard  question  to  answer.  I  have  few  friends 
here,  and  very  little  to  bind  me  to  the  place  of  my  birth.  I 
may  not  be  spared  to  return.  Of  one  thing  I  am  sure,  there 
are  none  left  to  mourn  my  death  should  I  fall." 

"I  think  you  do  yourself  injustice,  colonel.  Your  man- 
agement of  affairs  has  won  you  man^^  friends.  I  think  we 
often  change  our  opinion  of  people  when  we  have  known  them 
better." 

"Yes  ;  I  think  that  is  the  case,  and  if  people  are  less  pre- 
judiced against  me,  I  am  glad  of  it,"  the  colonel  replied,  care- 
lessly. 

Erom  ordinary  topics  of  conversation,  they  both  became 
gradually  less  talkative,  until  the  interview  assumed  a  serious 
and  almost  painful  aspect. 

Suddenly,  and  seemingly  without  any  special  object  in 
view,  the  officer  inquired,  with  a  peculiarly  quizzical  smile : 

"  Do  you  hear  anything,  now-a-days.  Miss  Kate,  from  across 
the  water  ?  " 

"  Nothing  at  all,  Colonel,  except  by  way  of  rumor.  Why 
do  you  ask  ?  " 

"Oh,  nothing." 

"How  could  I,  since  you  have  broken  up  the  blockade  busi- 
ness,"'she  "replied,  with  a  smile. 

"But  love,  you  know,  laughs  at  difficulties,  and  has  wings 


TOM  BURTON.  221 

like  a  dove.     Surely  I  could  put  no  barrier  that   could  balk 
Cupid's  flight." 

"  Love  !  Alas,  Colonel,  like  all  my  other  earthly  prospects 
(if  it  is  to  my  case  you  refer),  that  also  has  turned  into  ashes. 
I  am  alone  in  the  world.'^  The  sadness  which  accompanied 
the  last  remark  was  touching. 

"  Our  cases,  Miss  Kate,  are  similar  in  that  respect.  My 
prosperity  and  your  adversity,  however  antipodal,  have  cul- 
minated in  the  same  result,  namely,  poverty  of  the  heart, 
which  to  my  mind,  is  the  worst  of  all  calamities,  and  you  and 
I  meet  at  last  upon  the  same  common  ground.  Will  you 
permit  me  to  ask  you,"  he  continued,  rising  and  advancing 
to  her  chair,  "  if  you  now  consider  me  your  equal  ?  " 

The  color  in  Miss  Burton's  face  rose  like  a  flood  tide  on 
the  full  of  the  moon. 

"  I  consider  myself  beneath  even  the  negroes  in  point  of 
property  and  social  condition.  Xo  one  respects  us  when  we 
are  poor." 

"  Will  you  accept  my  friendship  in  good  faith  ?  " 
She  was  silent. 

"  Will  you  not  give  me  a  categorical  answer  to-day  ?  " 
"  Will  you  kindly  allow  me  to  reply  at  the  end  of  the  war  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  And  then  to  refuse  to  entertain  my  proposition  if  your 
side  wins  ?     Do  you  think  that  is  fair  ?  " 

"I  think  you  wrong  me  by  jumping  at  such  a  conclusion. 
The  fact  is,  Colonel,  I'm  in  no  condition  now  to  accept  or  re- 
fuse your  kind  offer.  This,  however,  I  will  promise  you,  and 
more  I  cannot.  I  will  allow  no  one  to  rise  to  a  higher  position 
in  my  friendship  than  that  which  you  hold,  until  I  see  you 
again,"  and  as  she  said  this  her  eye-lids  drooped  and  she 
looked    steadily  at    the  carpet. 

"  I  thank  you  for  that  much,  noblest  of  women,"  replied 
the  Colonel,  fervently  grasping  her  hand.  "  So  let  it  rest 
until  we  meet  again.  Meanwhile,  as  you  have  suffered  much 
on  account  of  these  troublous  times,  and  have  erstwhile  held 
me  somewhat  to  blame  as  being  in  an  indirect  manner  the 
cause,  I  have  had  my  will  written,  and  in  case  I  am  slain, 
Moorefield  is  yours,"  and  as  he  spoke  he  drew  from  his 
pocket  a  paper  folded  like  a  legal  document. 
"  But,  Colonel  Burton,  I  cannot  accept — " 
"  Say  no  more,"  he  interrupted,  "  for  you  have  not  time. 
The  left  wing  of  my  battalion  has  already  passed  the  gate, 
and  I  must  go." 

As  she  rose  the  paper  which  he  had  laid  on  her  lap  fell  to 
the  floor, 


222  TOM  BURTON. 

He  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips,  bowed    and  left  the  room. 

Kate  watched  him  galloping  off  down  the  lawn  towards  the 
gate. 

Once  before  in  her  life  she  had  experienced  similar  feelings. 
But  the  first  time  all  was  despair.  Then  the  coming  events 
of  her  near  future  seemed  to  cast  their  shadows  before ;  but 
now  it  appeared  to  her  that  the  night  was  far  spent,  and  the 
day  was  at  hand.  There  was  nothing  visible  to  warrant 
such  a  conclusion  ;  but  her  intuition  looking  far  ahead  saw 
the  glimpses  of  the  dawn,  and  from  that  day  forth  she  was  a 
new  creature.  She  picked  up  the  will,  and  saw  that  it  was 
even  as  he  had  said  ;  and  that  day  as  she  went  to  her  menial 
duties,  the  family  heard  her  humming  an  old  love  song. 
Human  nature  is  so  full  of  elasticity  when  youth  and  health 
are  there,  to  respond  to  the  touch  of  hope  ! 

Meanwhile,  Colonel  Burton  rejoined  his  regiment,  marched 
to  Cape  Charles,  and  was  from  thence  transported  to  Fortress 
Monroe. 

Here  had  crossed  Claude  with  the  old  man  and  Sammy, 
and  afterwards  the  Little  Sister — all   in  five  short  months. 

The  first  of  these  was  now  awaiting  his  doom  in  the  city 
jail,  Sammy  was  sleeping  in  the  vault  in  the  Catholic  ceme- 
tery, at  the  rural-looking  gate  of  which  the  old  man  sat  day 
by  day,  waiting  for  the  war  to  end  so  he  might  take  his  body 
home;  the  Little  Sister,  foiled  and  disappointed,  but  not 
despairing,  was  devising  ways  and  means  at  St.  Vincent  de 
Paul  to  save  the  life  of  her  ill-starred  friend ;  and  all  the 
while  the  beautiful  days  of  flowery  May  were  gliding  by  like 
a  busy  shuttle  weaving  the  woof  of  the  history  of  a  wonderful 
epoch. 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 

THE  ESCAPE. 

There  is  in  all  animal  life  a  principle  which  is  instinctively 
antagonistic  to  death,  and  yields  to,the  grim  monster  only 
when  its  last  citadel  is  stormed  and  demolished.  So  was  the 
Little  Sister's  courage  and  hope.  Though  denied  even  the 
privilege  of  seeing  the  object  of  her  solicitude,  or  even  of 
communicating  with  him  by  letter,  she  had  never  yet  de- 
spaired of  the  ultimate  favorable  answer  to  her  prayers  in  his 
behalf. 


703/  BURTOX.  223 

Night  after  night  she  paced  the  narrow  confines  of  her 
little  room,  wringing  her  hands,  and  saying  to  herself,  "  He 
must  not  die.  lie  is  innocent,  I  know ;  the  victim  of  some 
base  conspiracy.  He  shall  not  die.  God  in  Heaven  help  me 
to  save  him  !  " 

She  had  importuned  the  ^Confederate  commander.  She  had 
supplicated  tlie  Secretary  of  War.  She  had  even  knelt  before 
the  President.  All  these  had  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  her  plead- 
ings, and  now  she  was  thrown  back  upon  her  own  weak 
resources,  and  her  simple  faith  in  Divine  assistance.  The 
fertile  brain  of  Sister  Irene  was  also  exhausted  in  regard  to 
expedients,  and  the  time  was  short.  Still  the  Little  Sister 
hoped  on  with  an  unconquerable  heroism. 

The  two  girls  had  not  neglected  to  seek  the  old  blockader, 
and  enlist  his  services.  His  sympathies  had  already  been 
enlisted.  The  little  pique  which  he  had  held  against  Claude 
was  forgotten  in  his  own  burden  of  sorrow,  and  Claude's  mis- 
erable condition. 

"  It  is  werry  misfortionable,"  he  would  say.  "  It  are  werry 
nateral  he  should  be  led  astray  by  that  ar  Buttercup.  She  war 
well  kalkerlated  to  dumbfuzzel'the  best  on  us,  and  he  war 
young  and  pashernate.  I  b'lieve  he  are  as  innercent  as  a  babe 
unborn,  Sistern,  and  ef  we  uns  could  jest  save  him  it  would  be 
a  good  deed ;  but  its  werry  misfortionable,  Sistern,  werry  mis- 
fortionable.  Ef  I  could  once  git  him  into  my  cunner,  I 
mought  soon  hev  him  outen  all  danger.  How  many  more 
days,  Sistern,  'fore  he's  to  be  shot  ?  " 

"  Only  one  more.  Captain,  only  one  more,"  was  the  little 
Sister's  sorrowful  ejaculation.  The  long,  deep-drawn  sigh  of 
the  old  man,  as  he  again  repeated :  '•  It  are  all  werry  mis- 
fortionable, werry  misfortionable,"  expressed  a  hopelessness 
which  seemed  at  last  to  touch  the  heart  of  the  brave  little 
girl  with  a  tinge  of  despair,  for  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes  in 
spite  of  her  efforts  to  repress  them. 

Yes,  it  was  the  9th  of  May.  The  busy  marts  of  the  old 
town  were  redolent  of  strawberries,  and  fragrant  with  the 
odor  of  roses.  The  sun  shone  as  brightly,  the  birds  sang  as 
joyously,  and  the  sweet  air  was  as  balmy  as  it  is  this  very 
day  we  are  writing  of  those  stirring  times.  But  what  is 
this  wild  cry  we  hear  in  the  streets,  vainly  attempted  to  be 
suppressed  by  the  authorities  ?  What  means  the  terror- 
stricken  faces,  the  blanched  cheeks,  the  awful  forebodings 
apparent  in  the  countenances  of  every  one  you  meet  ? 

A  startling  rumor  has  reached  the  city  that  the  Yankees 
are  landing  on  the  beach  below  Se wall's  Point  in  great 
force,  and  are  marching  upon  the  city. 


224  TOM  BlfRTOl^. 

In  a  moment  all  is  confusion  ;  terror  reigns.  Men,  women 
and  children  flock  into  the  streets,  run  here  and  there, 
wringing  their  hands,  asking  questions,  vainly  looking  for 
some  place  of  safety. 

To  add  to  the  already  indescribable  state  of  affairs,  it  is 
reported  that  the  Confederates  are  evacuating  the  city,  and 
will  burn  it  down  during  the  coming  night. 

From  lip  to  lip  these  harrowing  reports  are  circulated,  un- 
til the  whole  town  trembles  with  excitement,  as  with  an 
earthquake. 

As  evening  comes  on  there  is  no  abatement  of  the  dreadful 
commotion.  The  alarm  increases  with  the  shadows  of  even- 
ing, and  the  ever  accumulating  confirmation  of  the  approach 
of  the  enemy. 

Suddenly,  a  furious  flame  leaps  up  from  the  navy  j'ard,  and 
every  one  imagines  the  whole  city  to  be  on  fire.  From  this 
time  pandemonium  is  let  loose.  E-egiments  of  infantry  hurry 
through  the  streets. 

They  play  no  music,  now.  We  only  hear  the  quick  tramp, 
tramp,  tramp,  as  they  pass  by,  going  toward  the  river,  where 
they  cross  the  ferry,  or  some  of  the  bridges,  toward  Ports- 
mouth. 

Artillery  wagons  thunder  over  the  cobble-stones,  the  snap 
of  the  driver's  lash  echoing  above  the  din. 

The  frightened  citizens,  with  as  much  of  their  personal  ef- 
fects as  they  can  carry,  rush  madly  after  the  troops. 

The  negroes  are  struck  dumb  with  wonder,  not  knowing 
whether  to  obey  their  masters  or  no ;  children  scream  with 
terror. 

It  was  Claude's  last  day,  and  the  night  the  little  Sister 
had  set  to  rescue  him. 

What  would  they  do,  now  ? — murder  him  in  his  cell,  take 
him  with  them,  or  forget  him  in  the  tumult  ?  She  could  not 
tell  which. 

"  Live  or  die,"  she  exclaimed.  ^'  I  will  find  him  this  night, 
or  perish  in  the  attempt !  " 

Sister  Irene,  only,  knew  of  her  intention.  With  the  bene- 
diction and  kisses  of  that  staunch  friend,  the  little  nun  went 
tremblingly  out  into  that  terrible  night  on  her  perilous 
mission,  to  breast  the  tide  of  a  raving  mob,  infuriated  and 
reckless,  with  only  the  simple  faith  born  of  a  pure  devotion 
for  the  man  she  loved,  to  protect  and  guide  her. 

Once  outside  of  the  hospital,  there  was  no  longer  any  pro- 
tection, but,  urged  forward  by  the  thought  that  even  now 
they  might  be  strangling  him  in  his  cell,  she  pushed  her  way 


TOM  BUUTON.  225 

through  the  surging,  flying  masses  of  negroes,  soldiers,  and 
citizens,  toward  the  jail. 

Not  daring  to  venture  down  Church  Street,  the  main  thor- 
oughfare of  the  city,  through  which  the  soldiers  from  the 
entrenched  camp  and  other  outposts  were  pouring,  she  ran 
down  Fenchurch  to  Cove  Street,  a  distance  of  a  quarter  of  a 
mile,  without  difficulty  or  molestation.  But  the  end  of  her 
destination  lay  in  a  westerly  direction,  and  she  must  either 
cross  Church  Street  at  Cove,  or  else  proceed  to  Main  at  its  in- 
tersection with  Fenchurch,  which  would  be  much  more  diffi- 
cult to  cross,  on  account  of  the  converging  currents  of  rush- 
ing humanity  which  were  uniting  at  that  point. 

Guided  by  her  quick,  womanly  instinct,  she  chose  the 
former. 

Here,  just  in  front  of  old  St.  Paul's,  she  was  forced  to  stop, 
so  great  was  the  crowd  on  the  sidewalk,  while  in  the  middle 
of  the  street  an  unbroken  line  of  military,  in  close  column, 
pressed  southward  toward  the  river. 

Balked  in  her  undertaking,  she  stood  on  the  curb,  and  bit 
her  lips  till  they  bled. 

^'  What  does  you  want,  my  Little  Sister,  and  why  in  the 
name  of  God  are  you  out  in  sich  a  night  as  this  ?  "  said  a  tall, 
rough-looking  man  who  was  standing  at  her  side,  whose 
voice  she  readily  recognized  as  that  of  Captain  Evans. 
"  Gineral  Jackson  and  Pocahontas  !  you  is  in  a  werry  bad  pre- 
dicament, in  this  hubbub,  my  little  one." 

"  Please,  sir,  take  me  up  in  your  arms,  and  lift  me  over  to 
the  other  side.  I  am  on  an  errand  of  the  utmost  importance, 
and  must  not  be  delayed." 

"That  I  will,  my  little  Daisy,  now,  look  out  for  your  big 
bonnet,  and  cling  fast  to  my  neck.  This  is  a  right  smart 
stream  ter  cross,"  so  saying,  he  wrapped  the  nun's  blue  robe 
around  her  and  catching  her  up  in  his  stalwart  embrace  bore 
her  safely  through  files  of  glittering  bayonets  to  the  other 
side. 

"Now,  run,  little  un,  as  fast  as  you  ken.  It's  gittin' 
werry  dark  and  deCngerous  fer  even  a  Sister  to  be  about ;  and 
these  niggers  is  none  too  good  to  resault  you,  you  pretty 
little  thing,  you." 

But  she  did  not  hear  the  last  words  of  the  kind  old  man. 
She  was  gone  like  a  flash,  disappearing  in  the  darkness  of 
Cove  Street,  always  black  and  dingy,  but  blacker  to-night 
than  ever. 

Even  here,  her  course  was  obstructed  by  flying  people, 
mostly  negroes,  who  not  only  interfered  with  her  locomotion, 


226  TOM  BURTON, 

but  more  than  once  ran  over  her,  trampling  her  beneath  their 
feet.  But,  springing  to  her  pins  as  rapidly  as  possible,  she 
groped  her  way  in  the  almost  impenetrable  gloom,  through 
crowded  street,  and  noisome  alley,  until  she  stood  in  front 
of  the  old  jail,  her  clothing  torn,  and  her  little  heart  flutter- 
ing with  the  combined  excitement  of  fear  and  exertion. 

In  the  meantime,  Claude  had  been  preparing  to  die.  The 
prison  being  situated  in  a  somewhat  secluded  part  of  the 
city,  he  had  heard  but  little  of  the  bustle  going  on  outside, 
attributing  what  he  did  hear  to  preparations  incident  to  his 
execution. 

He  had  determined  to  meet  his  fate  like  a  brave  man,  and 
sat  that  evening  in  his  cell,  with  no  more  sign  of  trepidation, 
than  if  he  was  only  to  take  a  short  and  ordinary  journey  on 
the  morrow. 

He  had  faithfully  prepared  what  he  termed  his  confession  ; 
he  had  made  his  peace  with  his  Maker  and  his  own  con- 
science, and  was  ready  to  be  offered  up. 

Once  more,  since  many  months,  he  felt  his  old  manhood 
come  back  to  him.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  manhood  far  superior 
to  his  former  one — a  reconstructed  character,  built  upon  the 
ruins  of  false  ideas,  and  a  false  education — a  condition  forced 
upon  him  by  antecedents  and  precedents,  as  old  and  as  obso- 
lete as  the  laws  of  Moses.  Now,  he  realized  the  ennobling 
fact  that  he  was  himself,  and  that  he  stood  upon  a  founda- 
tion of  truth,  and  not  blood ;  upon  a  nobility  of  soul,  and  not 
a  vain  and  empty  idea  of  chivalry.  His  sense  of  honor,  and 
his  estimate  of  virtue,  were  all  changed  now  ;  and  if  he  had 
his  life  to  live  over  again,  he  would  do  right  irrespective  of 
tradition,  and  uninfluenced  by  anything  the  world  might  say 
in  condemnation  of  his  course,  whatever  it  might  be. 

As  the  hour  of  his  dissolution  approached,  he  seemed  to 
gain  physical  strength.  He  was  hungry,  and  could  not  tell 
why  they  did  not  bring  his  supper  as  usual. 

His  eye  sparkled  with  its  old  lustre.  He  again  looked  as 
young  and  fresh  as  he  did  on  that  day  at  Burton's  Meeting- 
house, when  he  would  have  dragged  the  poor  preacher  down 
into  the  woods,  and  tarred  and  feathered  him.  But  he 
would  not  do  that  now.  No  ;  he  was  a  changed  man.  He 
had  drunk  to  the  dregs  the  cup  which  had  been  proffered 
him  at  his  birth,  the  legacy  of  a  noble  but  mistaken  ancestry  ; 
he  had  awakened  from  the  deleterious  effects  of  its  potent 
poison,  to  find  himself  a  wretch  undone ;  but  now  the  scales 
had  fallen  from  his  eyes,  the  true  light  of  God's  grace  had 
shone  into  his  heart,  and  permeated  his  inner  being ;  and 
just  as  he  was  willing  to  die,  he  was  ready  to  live. 


TOM  BURTON,  227 

As  the  shades  of  night  came  down  over  the  antiquated 
city,  enveloping  the  old  jail  in  its  customary  dreariness, 
strange  sounds,  increasing  more  and  more  in  violence,  be- 
gan to  assail  the  ear  of  the  condemned  prisoner. 

There  was  something  going  on  outside  the  dull  walls  of 
his  dungeon,  both  unusual  and  alarming.  The  sound  of 
hurrying  footsteps,  which  at  first,  was  desultory  and  infre- 
quent, grew  in  violence,  until  he  imagined  the  whole  city 
was  on  the  street,  and  flying  as  if  from  a  fearful  conflagra- 
tion. From  his  little  window  he  could  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  passing  crowd  hurrying  by,  and  see  the  glare  of  burning 
barracks  illuminating  the  sky. 

Then  came  the  shrieks  of  the  dismayed,  and  the  curses 
of  the  lawless ;  the  negro  convicts  in  the  lower  cells  of  the 
prison  taking  up  the  strain,  and  yelling  back  their  demon- 
iacal shouts  in  chorus. 

The  blood  of  the  condemned  man  ran  cold  at  the  fearful 
thought  of  some  awful  calamity,  which  these  disturbances 
seemed  to  portend,  and  he  lost  sight  of  his  own  impending 
fate,  in  the  uncertainty  and  horror  of  that  which  had  come 
upon  the  city. 

"  They  are  coming  !  They  are  coming !  '^  were  all  the 
words  he  could  catch  from  the  outside,  while  "  Glory  to 
God  !  "  and  "  hallelujah  !^'  was  the  sacrilegious  refrain  which 
rocked  the  damp  walls  of  the  old  prison,  yelled  out  by  at 
least  a  score  of  drunken  negroes,  and  low-down  white  crim- 
inals, who  had  been  arrested  that  day,  and  were  taking  ad- 
vantage of  the  perturbed  condition  of  their  keepers  to  make 
disorder  and  confusion. 

Then,  above  the  roar  which  arose  from  the  groaning 
streets,  like  that  of  the  distant  surf,  came  awful  explosions, 
preceded  by  vivid  flashes  of  lightning,  and  the  earth  rocked 
as  if  in  the  throes  of  an  earthquake. 

Claude  stood  appalled  in  the  middle  of  his  cell,  wondering 
what  it  all  meant,  when  the  sound  of  heavy  feet  tramping 
up  the  stairs  to  his  door,  the  dragging  of  sabres  over  the 
steps,  and  then  the  jingling  of  keys  and  the  rattling  .  of 
bolts  assured  him  that  the  privacy  of  his  abode  was  about  to 
be  invaded. 

Presently  there  seemed  to  be  an  altercation  in  the  corridor 
and  he  heard  a  female  voice  saying  : 

"  But  you  will  let  me  go  in.  I  am  a  Sister  of  Charity,  and 
the  only  friend  he  has  in  the  world.'' 

He  heard  the  ponderous  clasp  swing  from  its  staple,  and 
as  a  desperate  encounter  broke  out  below,  and  the  soldiers  at 


228  TOM  BURTOir. 

the  door  ran  pell-mell  down  stairs,  tumbling  over  each 
other  in  the  darkness,  a  slight  figure  in  a  nun's  cornet  and 
habit,  crept  into  the  dark  room,  and  stood  before  him. 

"  AVho  are  you  ?  "  he  inquired  as  he  peered  at  the  dim  out- 
lines of  the  Little  Sister. 

"  I'm  a  nun.  But  for  Heaven's  sake  tarry  not  to  ask  ques- 
tions. Now  is  your  only  chance  of  escape.  They  are  going 
to  take  you  away  with  them,  and  wdll  shoot  j^ou  to-morrow. 
Quick,  put  on  this  robe.  Let  me  lie  this  surplice  about  your 
face  to  hide  your  beard.  This  cornet  will  fit  you  better  since 
your  hair  is  thin.  Quick,  and  fly  for  your  life  before  they 
return.     It's  your  last  opportunity." 

Claude  was  bewildered  and  stood  like  a  statue  not  know- 
ing what  to  do  or  say. 

''  Oh,  my  dear  friend,  how  can  you  be  so  irresolute  when 
your  very  life  depends  upon  immediate  action.  Will  you  let 
me  see  you  perish  after  all  I  have  done  to  save  you  ?  Must 
all  my  efforts  and  sacrifices  go  for  nothing  ?  Oh,  Claude, 
my  soul's  hero,  my  life's  dream,  fly,  if  not  for  your  own  sake, 
for  the  sake  of  Mary  Burton,  who  once  more  has  come  to  save 
you  ?  " 

"  And  from  you^  darling  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes.  We  may  meet  again.  But  if  you  stay,  there 
is  no  hope." 

The  commotion  grew  more  boisterous  below, 

"  And  where  must  I  go  ?  " 

"  To  Richmond.     To  the  Peninsula  !" 

"  Back  to  the  Confederate  army  ?  " 

"  By  all  means.  Go,  redeem  yourself,  and  whether  you 
win  or  lose  it  will  all  be  well.  You  can  regain  respect  by  no 
other  road." 

"  But  my  heart  is  not  in  it.  I  can  never  raise  my  hand 
against  my  country's  flag  again." 

"  Be  guided  this  once  by  me.  So  far  you  are  innocent  of 
crime.  You  must  not  be  a  renegade.  There  are  thousands 
who  have  thought  from  the  beginning  as  you  think  now  ;but 
fate  cast  their  lot  on  the  wrong  side,  and  they  but  follow  in 
the  line  of  their  duty  by  sacrificing  everything — even  con- 
science, to  be  with  their  countrymen.  We  must  not  argue 
here.  If  you  love  me,  heed  my  advice,  and  when  the  strife 
is  over  and  you  come  back,  you  shall  find  a  sweet  haven  of 
rest." 

The  tumult  without  was  appalling. 

Claude  was  stupefied.  The  incomprehensible  commotion 
on  the  street,  the  fearful  explosion  of   magazines,   rocking 


TOM  BURTON.  229 

the  prison  like  an  earthquake,  the  demoniacal  struggle  below, 
and  the  new  ideas  awakened  in  his  mind  so  suddenly  by  the 
rapid  and  almost  hysterical  words  and  demeanor  of  the  little 
woman  so  wrought  upon  him  that  he  mechanically  assisted  her 
in  her  nervous  efforts  to  array  him,  and  scarcely  knowing  what 
he  did,  suffered  himself  to  be  led  to  the  door,  and  pushed  out 
into  the  corridor. 

Mary  staggered  back  into  the  darkness  of  the  cell,  and  the 
heavy  iron  door  was  swung  to  by  some  one  on  the  outside 
and  locked. 

Unable  longer  to  bear  up  under  the  severe  tension  to  which 
her  delicate  nerves  had  been  subjected,  the  brave  little  nun 
sank  down  in  a  corner  of  the  loathsome  den  in  a  deep  swoon, 
from  which  she  did  not  fully  recover  until  long  after  midnight. 
When  she  did  come  to  herself  all  was  quiet  as  death  in 
the  prison  ;  and  over  the  desolate  city  there  rested  the 
silence  of  the  grave. 

A  bright  May  morning  dawned. 

Pearly  drops  of  dew  clung  to  the  iron  bars  of  the  little 
window,  sparkling  like  diamonds  in  the  first  rays  of  the 
rising  sun. 

Mary  arose  and  looked  out  on  the  street.  She  saw  only 
negroes.  They  were  running  toward  Church  Street  with  all 
their  might.  The  expression  of  their  faces  was  that  of  con- 
sternation mingled  with  joy.  She  listened.  Far  away  on 
the  morning  air  floated  strains  of  martial  music.  A  hun- 
dred bands  seemed  to  be  pouring  forth  the  lively  melody. 
Again  she  listened.  They  played  "  Yankee  Doodle."  It  was 
General  Wool  marching  into  the  city. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

all's  well  that  ends  well. 

A  delegation  of  the  citizens  headed  by  the  mayor,  went 
out  to  meet  the  Federal  commander  at  the  entrenched  camp, 
and  delivered  the  city  into  his  hands.  Thereupon  the  Fed- 
eral troops  marched  in  and  took  possession,  in  the  midst  of 
salvos  of  cannon,  the  playing  of  bands,  and  the  rejoicing  of 
negroes.  The  outposts  of  the  Confederates  had  been  drawn 
in  the  day  before,  their  heavy  artillery  either  spiked  or  re- 
moved to  the  Portsmouth  side  of  the  river,  and  on  the  night 
of  the  9th  they  withdrew  entirely  from  the  north  side  of  the 


230  '  TOM  BURTON. 

Elizabeth,  crossed  the  Western  Branch  and  made  their  way 
toward  Eichmond  on  the  south  side  of  the  James,  by  the 
way  of  Petersburg. 

The  "  Merrimac,"  still  disabled  from  her  encounter  with 
the  "  Monitor,"  lay  down  by  Crany  Island,  where  she  was 
blown  up  on  the  night  of  the  11th. 

Colonel  Burton  reached  Fortress  Monroe  just  in  time  to 
join  the  expedition  against  Norfolk. 

He  rode  into  the  town  at  the  head  of  his  regiment  with 
the  familiarity  of  one  who  was  perfectly  well  acquainted  with 
its  streets. 

The  usual  precautions  to  prevent  surprise  were  taken  by 
the  commanding  general,  pickets  thrown  out  on  the  Ports- 
mouth side  and  defenses  begun  as  far  south  as  Getty's  Station 
in  Norfolk  County  ;  and  in  a  short  while  every  thing  assumed 
a  peaceful  aspect. 

But  leaving  the  results  of  this  bloodless,  but  no  less  import- 
ant victory  of  the  Federals,  to  speak  for  themselves,  let  us  in 
the  short  space  which  is  left  us  proceed  to  notice  that  which 
most  directly  concerns  the  well  known  individuals  with  whom 
we  have  been  so  familiar,  during  the  perusal  of  this  particular 
history. 

Undismayed  by  her  recent  troubles,  and  now  set  at  liberty 
by  the  advent  of  her  new  friends,  the  Federals,  Miss  But- 
tercup, with  a  conscience  as  easy  as  ever  a  woman's  could  be, 
at  once  set  up  her  court  and  laid  her  plans  to  bring  into  sub- 
jection as  many,  if  not  more,  admirers  in  blue,  as  she  had 
ruined,  lost  and  discarded  with  empty  pockets,  in  gray. 

Half  of  the  first  day  after  the  evacuation  had  not  passed, 
ere  she  was  seen  riding  through  the  streets  of  Norfolk,  on 
horseback,  in  the  company  of  several  officers  of  the  new  re- 
gime. While  thus  employed,  the  party  met  Colonel  Burton, 
who  was  himself  mounted,  as  he  was  riding  from  the  newly 
established  head-quarters,  at  the  custom  house,  up  Main  Street. 
As  he  approached  the  party,  he  recognized  Miss  Buttercup 
as  an  old  acquaintance  and  saluted  her.  For  a  moment  the 
olive  complexion  of  the  dashing  equestrienne  assumed  a  crim- 
son hue,  and  for  once  she  showed  some  evidence  of  confusion  ; 
but  recovering  her  self-possession  in  a  moment,  reined  up  her 
horse,  and  entered  into  conversation  with  that  officer.  She 
was  very  flippant  in  her  remarks,  treating  the  colonel  with  a 
sort  of  indififerent  familiarity,  while  he  returned  her  obtrus- 
iveness  with  a  taciturnity  that  seemed  to  vex  her. 

*^By  the  by,  Colonel,"  she  remarked,  "we  have  enjoyed 
quite  an  episode  in  our  beleaguered  city  for  the  past   few 


TOM  BURTON.  L>31 

Tiioiitlis,  ill  which  your  humble  servant  was  an  unwilling  and 
rather  conspicuous  figure." 

^^  How  so  ?  "  inquired  Colonel  Burton  rather  nonchalantly. 

"  Why  you  see,  that  I  being  one  of  those  unfortunate  in- 
dividuals who  sided  with  the  Union  cause,  have  been  subject 
to  persecution,  and  through  the  perfidy  of  a  gentleman  of  your 
own  county  was  imprisoned  and  have  only  this  very  day  re- 
gained my  freedom." 

"  Indeed !  What  was  the  trouble,  and  of  whom  do  you 
speak  as  belonging  to  my  county  ?  '' 

"  Did  you  know  a  man  by  the  name  of  Claude  Walsingham 
— a  captain  of  cavalry  in  the  rebel  army  ?  " 

"I  did.     What  of  him?" 

"  He  was  to  have  been  shot  this  very  day.  Whether  or  not 
he  is  yet  in  jail,  I  do  not  know." 

"  Shot,  and  to-day  !     Pray  what  was  the  charge  ?  " 

"  Treason,  my  dear  Colonel.  He  was  caught  communicat- 
ing with  your  people  at  Fortress  Monroe,  and  sentenced,  as 
I  said,  to  death.     This  morning  was  the  day  of  his  doom." 

*'  Impossible  !  I  do  not  believe  him  guilty  of  any  such  of- 
fense. If  what  you  tell  me  is  true,  there  is  some  treachery," 
and  Colonel  Burton  flashed  a  look  of  suspicion  at  the  impress- 
able  woman  which  sent  the  blood  again  to  her  temples. 

"  But  where  did  you  say  he  was  confined  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  In  the  city  jail.  It  may  be  that  they  took  him  with  them 
last  night." 

"  I  shall  see  at  once.  Please  excuse  me,  gentlemen,"  he 
said,  and  rode  away  without  further  ceremony. 

Meanwhile  there  was  great  excitement  at  the  hospital  of 
St.  Vincent  de  Paul.  The  Little  Sister  had  been  missed  and 
the  whole  Sisterhood  was  in  the  utmost  consternation  in  re- 
gard to  her  disappearance.  Sister  Irene,  not  knowing  the  re- 
sult of  her  friend's  mission,  was  reticent,  only  volunteering 
her  services  as  one  who  was  willing  to  go  out  and  search  for 
her. 

The  aid  of  Captain  Evans  was  solicited,  and  he  and  Sister 
Irene  set  out  about  midday  for  the  jail.  The  streets  were 
entirely  divested  of  white  citizens,  but  overrunning  with  Yan- 
kee soldiers  and  negroes.  The  former  were  insolent,  and  the 
latter  saucy,  and  once  or  twice  the  old  man  came  very  near 
being  arrested,  and  once  he  actually  knocked  a  negro  down 
for  "standing  in  his  way;  but  they  finally  reached  the  jail  in 
safety.  They  found  the  doors  wide  open  and  all  the  lower 
cells  deserted.  The  prisoners  had  either  escaped,  or  had  been 
liberated.  They  ascended  the  stairs  and  finding  the  door  of 
Claude's  cell  shut  and  fastened,  they  knocked. 


232  TOM  BURTON. 

The  Little  Sister  answered. 

"  She  ar  in  thar  as  shure's  my  name's  Kevel  Evans,"  ex- 
claimed the  old  man. 

"Is  it  you,  my  Little  Sister?"  called  out  Sister  Irene. 

"Yes,  my  darling,"  replied  the  prisoner,  recognizing  the 
voice  of  her  friend. 

The  door  had  been  locked  by  a  passing  turnkey,  immedi- 
ately'- after  the  escape  of  Claude. 

"  Are  you  alone,  Sister  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Pray  relieve  me  as  soon  as  possible,  if  in  your 
power  ;  I  am  very  hungry." 

"  That  I  will,  jest  as  yearly  as  I  kin  git  a  hammer  and 
chisel,"  replied  the  old  man,  as  he  hastened  down  the  stair- 
way in  quest  of  the  tools  he  had  mentioned. 

He  was  not  long  in  procuring  these,  and  the  work  of  prying 
out  the  staple,  to  one  so  accustomed  to  the  use  of  such  tools 
as  Captain  Evans,  was  a  matter  of  only  a  moment.  As  the 
door  swung  open,  the  two  girls  rushed  into  each  other's 
arms. 

"And  the  Captain  ?  "  inquired  Sister  Irene. 

"Is  safe,  I  hope." 

"  Thank  God  !     Now  we  have  found  you,  all  is  well." 

Captain  Evans  regarded  the  happy  meeting  of  the  two 
nuns  with  feelings  of  great  gratification,  remarking  : 

"This  are  one  of  the  happiest  repochs  of  my  resistance. 
I  feel  as  ef  I  war  ev  some  sarvice  arter  all." 

Scarcely  had  the  greeting  subsided,  when  Colonel  Burton 
rode  up  to  the  jail,  alighted  at  the  door,  and,  tying  his  horse 
to  the  court-house  fence,  mounted  the  steps.  Hearing  the 
sound  of  voices  upstairs  he  ascended. 

Even  before  he  reached  the  corridor,  he  was  shocked  at  the 
sound  of  familiar  voices.  His  limbs  almost  refused  to  obey 
his  irresolute  will,  so  paralyzed  was  he  at  the  thought  of  the 
revelations  which  awaited  him. 

He  tried  to  reach  the  corridor  at  a  single  bound,  but  hia 
unguided  foot  slipped,  and  he  imagined  he  would  die  before 
he  reached  the  top.  The  flight  of  steps  was  not  high,  hoW' 
ever,  and  really  before  he  could  realize  it,  he  was  at  tha 
door,  just  as  the  happy  trio  were  preparing  to  decamp. 

One  glance  at  the  little  nun  was  sufficient. 

"Mary,  my  darling,  darling  sister  !  " 

"  My  brother  !  " 

"  Which  ter  make  a  good  picter,  you  and  me  orter  do  likC' 
wise,"  ventured  the  old  man,  with  a  nod  at  Sister  Irene. 

But  the  countenance  of  that  woman  was  a  study  for  an 


TOM  BURTON.  233 

artist.  For  a  moment  she  gazed  at  the  face  of  the  handsome 
officer,  and  her  own  assumed  the  pallidity  of  death. 

She  reeled  to  the  wall,  and  supported  herself  against  it. 

From  where  she  stood,  with  her  eyes  now  averted  from 
the  embracing  brother  and  sister,  she  could  look  down  the 
corridor  through  the  wide-open  door. 

Suddenly  she  seemed  to  recover  her  equanimity ;  then  as 
suddenly,  quivered  from  head  to  feet  with  intense  excite- 
ment. With  a  heart-rending  shriek,  which  startled  the 
little  group,  and  echoed  through  the  empty  prison,  she 
sprang  forward,  and  extending  her  arms,  clutched  the  tall 
officer  frantically  around  the  neck.  A  short,  sharp  report, 
not  louder  than  the  pop  of  an  air-gun  followed,  and  the  poor 
girl  muttering  :  "  That  horrid  woman  !  "  slid  lifeless  to  the 
floor,  before  Colonel  Burton  could  catch  her  in  his  arms. 

She  fell  on  her  face,  and  from  a  small  hole  not  bigger  than 
a  pea,  under  the  scapula,  a  little  to  the  left  of  the  spine, 
there  oozed  a  few  drops  of  blood  which  stained  slightly  the 
blue  habit  she  wore. 

"  My  God,  what  is  this  !  "  exclaimed  Colonel  Burton,  as  he 
stooped  and  raised  the  limp  form,  supporting  the  head  of 
the  now  ghastly  nun,  on  his  bent  knee. 

As  he  gazed  into  the  pale  face,  paler  than  the  white  cor- 
net, the  eyes  opened,  blazed  wistfully  into  his  own  for  a 
second,  and  as  a  sweet  smile  played  about  the  parting  lips, 
and  her  chin  quivered  just  a  little,  the  hands  fell  to  the  floor, 
the  eyelids  drooped  half  closed,  and  with  a  sigh  the  spirit  of 
the  beautiful  Sister  fled  away. 

"  She  is  dead  !  she  is  dead  !  '^  shrieked  Mary. 

"  And  to  save  me  ! "  groaned  Colonel  Burton,  as  he  trem- 
blingly raised  the  left  hand  and  singling  out  the  third  finger 
fondled  the  ring  she  wore. 

"  It  war  a  werry  misfortionable  circumstance,''  remarked 
Captain  Evans,  in  a  husky  voice.  "  S'pozen  I  retempt  to 
overhaul  the  one  who  did  it  ?  " 

"  Go,  sir,  for  God's  sake,  quick,"  replied  the  officer. 

But  the  assassin  had  disappeared. 

The  Colonel's  horse  was  gone,  the  street  deserted,  and  only 
the  form  of  a  dashing  female  rider  could  be  seen  turning  into 
Granby  street,  beyond  the  court-house  lawn. 

And,  now,  reader,  we  come  to  that  turn  in  our  little  history 
where  after  a  few  more  words  by  way  of  conclusion,  we  must 
part. 

With  the  closing  of  Sister  Irene's  eyes,  all  evidence  of 
her  roi^rderer  vanished. 


234  TOM  BURTON, 

Enough  c6uld  be  surmised,  however,  to  make  sure  that  the 
bullet  which  pierced  her  heart  was  intended  for  Colonel 
Burton,  and  was  fired  by  a  woman.  To  shield  her  old  friend 
the  devoted  nun  had  sacrificed  her  own  life. 

During  the  obsequies,  Colonel  Burton  remained  at  the  hos- 
pital, and  when  he  departed  from  Norfolk  with  orders  to  join 
McClellan  on  the  Peninsula,  he  left  Mary  in  the  care  of  the 
good  Sisters  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul. 

Communication  being  opened  up  between  Norfolk  and  the 
Eastern  Shore,  Captain  Evans  watched  his  chances  for  a  good 
run,  and  in  the  old  "  cunner,"  with  green  cedar  boughs  for 
a  canopy,  he  silently  and  alone  transported  the  remains  of 
Sammy  to  their  last  resting-place  in  his  mother's  garden. 

It  was  again  the  10th  of  May,  now  1865. 

The  war  was  over.  Colonel  Burton,  who  had  retired  a  year 
before  with  a  wound  received  in  the  battle  of  the  Wilderness, 
from  which,  thanks  to  a  gentle  nurse,  in  the  person  of  Miss 
Kate  Moore,  now  Mrs.  Colonel  Burton,  he  was  entirely  re- 
covered, was  sitting  on  the  piazza  of  his  new  residence  at 
Moorefield,  his  wife  and  sister  beside  him. 

Around  his  beautiful  residence,  fresh  w^ith  paint  and  bloom- 
ing with  every  comfort,  stretched  on  every  side  green  fields  of 
growing  grain. 

Old  Daniel,  again  a  widower,  sat  on  the  porch  steps,  bent 
with  years^  but  only  waiting  a  nod  to  do  "  'Mars  Burton's" 
bidding.  Captain  Evans  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  chewed  his 
quid  with  his  accustomed  gusto,  and  told  stories  of  blockade 
running. 

Daniel  had  said  that  a  boat  was  coming  up  the  creek  be- 
hind the  thicket,  but  no  one  had  paid  any  attention  to  so 
commonplace  an  event. 

Suddenly  the  barking  of  the  dogs  in  the  back-yard,  called 
the  attention  of  the  little  group  in  the  porch  to  that  direc- 
tion, and  they  see  a  man  approaching,  supporting  himself  on 
crutches. 

His  suit,  which  had  once  been  gray,  and  was  that  of  a  pri- 
vate in  the  Confederate  army,  is  the  color  of  the  ground. 
His  jacket  is  tattered  and  torn,  his  straw  hat  out  at  the 
crown,  and  his  coarse  brogans  literally  tied  to  his  feet.  A 
thick  auburn  beard  covers  the  lower  part  of  his  face,  and  long 
locks  of  brown  hair  fall  to  his  shoulders.  His  face  is  pale 
and  emaciated,  but  his  eye  is  bright  and  blue,  and  though 
his  left  leg  is  stiff  and  useless,  he  still  seems  to  possess  a 
goodly  amount  of  physical  strength.     As  be  approaches  the 


TOM  BURTON.  23.5 

stoop,  Colonel  Burton  rises  to  give  him  a  kindly  greeting. 
The  ladies  also  full  of  sympathy  for  a  wounded  soldier  re- 
turning to  his  old  home,  bearing  in  his  body  the  evidence  of 
an  unhappy  but  honorable  service,  prepare  themselves  to 
offer  him  a  hearty  reception. 

But  Love's  quickening  instincts  are  ever  on  the  alert. 

With  a  thrilling  cry  of  joy  Mary  Burton  runs  down  the 
steps,  and  trembling  like  a  frightened  bird,  nestles  her  head 
in  the  bosom  of  Claude  Walsingham. 


THE  END. 


0^ 


^^t 


if^^ 


IBl 


jiK^ 


■^^ 


'h.-^i- 


mM^:^ 


'■§t^^W'^^^^^ 


>i^^!# 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 
709 


